Perfect Victim, The (48 page)

Chapter 20

Randall didn’t like being wrong. Worse, he didn't like being wrong and fighting for it anyway
.
He'd lost all sense of objectivity the moment he'd touched Addison back at that cabin, and he hadn't even realized it
—
until now.

He'd lost his edge. Christ, she was thinking more rationally than he was. If he agreed to Clint's plan, he would be putting her right in the line of fire
.
How could he live with himself if he let Tate hurt her?

Turning away from the door, he dropped the holster onto the console table, then picked up the bottle of whiskey, taking it to the bar. Without looking at her, he pulled out a shot glass, filled it, and slammed it back, hoping the slow burn would stop the anger and fear from consuming him completely.

It didn't
.

She was still there, looking at him expectantly as he refilled the glass a second time and downed it in a single gulp.

''That's not going to solve anything
,
" she snapped.

"No, but it's sure as hell going to make me feel better
.
"
He felt like getting roaring drunk. Anything to dull the ache splitting his chest.

"For an hour? For two? Until you come to your senses and realize that we don't have a choice but to do this?"

"We always have choices," he said. "I'm merely trying to save your life."

"Don't try to make my choices for me. I won't let you."

For the first time since Clint left, he looked at her, astounded that he could feel so damned taken aback by those eyes of hers. "You have absolutely no idea what this son of a bitch is capable of," he said angrily.

"Yes, I do."

"You can't imagine!"

"What do you suggest, Randall? Shall 1 just wait around for him to finish the job he started? Will it be a car accident, like my parents? Or will I get gunned down in the street? Or perhaps at my shop? Will they kill Gretchen, too?" She approached him, her cheeks flushed with anger. "I'm sorry, but I'm not willing to make that ultimate sacrifice."

She was standing so close he could smell the clean scent of her hair and the subtle, feminine perfume she wore. The alcohol was messing with his brain, making him want her.

Goddamn her.

He crossed to her. Without preamble, he cupped the back, of her head and crushed his mouth against hers. Her body went rigid with shock. She tried to push him away, but he didn't relent. He kissed her long and hard, aware that she wasn't kissing him back, but he didn't care. He needed her. Physically. Emotionally.

Abruptly, he released her, watching dispassionately as she stumbled back. Her face was flushed, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. "You're an idiot when you're drunk," she said, backing away. "I hate it when you drink. I won't tolerate it."

He followed her, a predator cornering its prey. "If you get near him, he'll kill you. I won't have your death on my conscience, Addison."

"If we don't stop him now, it'll come when we least expect it
.
Sooner or later, he'll get us. I'd rather do it on my terms."

There was no right or wrong. Only danger and
insurmountable risk
.
And ultimately safety
,
but it carried an exorbitant price. He looked into her eyes and wondered how much she knew about taking risks, if she realized she was putting her life on the line—and that she could lose. He thought about the plan Clint had outlined and wondered if there was a chance it would work
.
Maybe Tate would refuse to meet her. Maybe he'd agree and then not
show. Maybe he would—

Cursing, Randall hurled the shot glass into the sink
,
shattering it, splashing the last of his peace of mind over the counter. Frustration and helplessness reached their flash point
.
"Your life means nothing to him!" he r
a
ged.

Before he could stop himself he rushed to her, yanked her toward him, and shook her. "He doesn't care about you! He'll kill us both without forethought, without afterthought, and without missing his son's
Little League game!"

"Stop it!"

"He'll kill you, Addison! I won
'
t let
that happen!"

"You're hurting me!'"

"You're hurting me, too, goddammit!"

She stared at him, her eyes wide and startled.

Releasing her, he stepped back
,
cursing himself for touching her in anger
.
"Jesus
.
"

"I'm
...
sorry
,
" she said after a moment.

"Don't apologize to me after what I just did to you," he snapped
.

"
But I—
"

He raised his hand
.
"Just ... don't
.
"

For a moment the only sound came from his heavy breathing. Randall concentrated
on calming himself so he could think rationally. He couldn't ever remember feeling so helpless, so powerless, and he hated it
.

He knew she wasn
'
t going to back down
.
She was going
to do this no matter what he said or did. Had the circumstances not been so bleak, her tenacity might have been admirable. It sickened him to think of what it might cost her. What it might cost him.

He knew she was only doing what she thought was right. Dammit, he didn't have a better idea. "I'll agree to this on two conditions," he said finally.

She eyed him warily. "What conditions?"

"We do it at Clint's bar. And you wear a vest."

"All right." Her voice didn't falter, and Randall wondered where the strength had come from. There was so much more to her than he'd ever imagined. So many twists and turns that made her the woman he'd fallen in love with.

The notion shook him to his foundation.

He crossed to her in two strides. Suddenly, the need to feel her against him, her heart beating against his, was so powerful, so urgent, that it struck a chord of panic inside him.

The fight went out of her the instant his arms wrapped around her. Her head dropped to his chest, and she leaned, vacillating, against him. She felt so small in his arms. So vulnerable.

"We need to do this, Randall."

"I know," he said, furious that she was right. He pulled her more tightly against him. "But I hate it. I fucking hate it." He tilted her head up and pressed his mouth against hers, reveling in the sweetness of her breath, the taste of her lips, the texture of her skin.

"Good still prevails over evil sometimes," she murmured.

He pulled away from her, looked deeply into her eyes, shaken by what he saw, overwhelmed by what he felt. "I love you," he said. A tremor passed through her, but he didn't stop. "I love you too much to let anything happen to you."

It was out. He'd said it. Christ, this was making him crazy.

"Jesus, Talbot, you never cease to amaze me."

"Yeah, sometimes I even amaze myself," he growled.

She touched his face with fingers that trembled. "Please, help me do this. Everything will work out
.
You'll see."

The need drove into him mercilessly, sending his mouth back down to hers, devouring. He pulled the sweater over her head, mussing her hair, making her look heavy-eyed and wild as she stared back at him.

Helpless to stop the urgency that rammed into him, Randall crushed her body to his, burying his face in her fragrant hair. He worked the tiny hook of her
bra and bent to take a taut nipple in his mouth
.
"Did I tell you I love you?" he whispered.

"
Yes,
"
she panted
.

"Good." Backing her against the wall, he pinned her arms above her head and suckled greedily on her breast
.
Throwing her head back in abandon
,
she moaned and arched against him.

"That drives me crazy when you do that
.
" He released her hands.

She skimmed velvet fingers down his chest, over his n
i
pples
.
A powerful shudder went through him. Her hands fumbled with his zipper
.
He was rock-hard and each time she brushed against him
,
he pearly exploded. But he didn't
.
That kind of control was too important to him. She was too important
.
This moment between them too precious.

He tugged her leggings down
,
and she kicked them as
i
de. At the same time
,
she freed him from his jeans, touched him gently until an involuntary moan bubbled up from deep inside him. It was raw need she unleashed, primal, dark
,
and v
i
olent
.

With a low growl, he swung her around, lifted her onto the bar by her hips, wedged himself between her knees, and drew them wide apart. Her head snapped up. There was surprise in her eyes when she looked at him
,
but he moved quickly. Cupping the soft flesh
of her buttocks, he pulled her to the edge of the counter and thrust himself inside her.

He knew it was too rough for her, inexperienced as she was, but he wanted to possess her
,
if only for a moment,
because he knew the moment was fleeting. No one would ever control her. As surely as he was hurtling himself to the edge of his own pleasure, she was slipping away.

Without the finesse she deserved, he pumped in and out of her, driving deep, gritting his teeth against the need exploding inside him. He wanted her. Had to have her. Like this. On his terms.

To his surprise, she began to move with him. Her fingers raked up and down his back. Her breaths came quickly until she was shouting his name. He ravaged her breasts with his mouth, with his hands, part of him wanting to hurt her the way he was hurting inside.

The orgasm was simultaneous and explosive. He held her so tightly he feared he might be bruising her, but he couldn't let go. He couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear but for the ragged sound of his own breathing matched only by hers.