Savor the Danger (18 page)

“Yeah.” He found the back tie to her top and lightly tugged it apart. The cups over her breasts loosened enough for him to get his hands underneath. “If I could, I'd lay you out right here on the dock.”

Breathless, she whispered, “I couldn't,” almost like she were considering it.

He played with her nipples, making her—and himself—nuts. “We'll see.” In a rush, taking her by surprise, he opened the tie around her neck, and the top fell to the dock.

Going to one knee behind her, Jackson tugged down her bottoms.

Her knees locked, and on a gasp, she covered herself with a hand. Putting his hand over hers, he pressed her fingers in, turned on by the idea of her touching herself.

He kissed her lower spine, down, over one cheek—and she jumped away. Staring at him wide-eyed, she opened her mouth, said nothing, then turned and in two quick steps reached the end of the dock. She dove in.

Left sitting there holding air, it took Jackson a second before he grinned and stood to follow her. Just as she'd done, he dove in, dousing his lust in the chilly water.

He surfaced right in front of her. Water spiked her lashes; her slicked-back hair looked darker, her cheekbones more pronounced, her lips moist.

They tread water together. “You do realize that the cold has a negative effect on men.”

“Really?” One hand on his shoulder to help keep her afloat, she held his gaze, and with the other hand under the water, she found him, wrapping her small fingers around his shaft, squeezing. “I don't think so.”

“I've created a monster.” Being a strong swimmer,
Jackson easily moved them both to the ladder. He held on with one hand, and she held on to him with both. “You wanna try some water play, is that it?”

“Yes.” And then, “Is it possible?”

He didn't have a condom with him, but that didn't mean she had to wait. “I'll show you.” While kissing her, he coasted a hand over her waist, down over her hip, back and over her rounded ass. “Open up for me, Alani. Put your legs around me.”

Buoyed by the water, she did so easily, and damn, it felt good, the contrast of her heat with the cold water.

From behind he explored her, making her gasp so that she arched closer—but couldn't retreat from his touch. He opened her, pressed a finger in. Two fingers.

He was ravaging her mouth, pressing her back into the ladder, working her with his fingers when he heard the intrusion.

Already knowing what had happened, he lifted his head, muttered, “Damn it,” and tried to figure out how best to handle the situation.

“Jackson?”

He groaned, his face against Alani's neck. An interruption was not welcome.

Still mired in need, Alani whispered, “What is it?” Writhing against him, she touched her lips to his jaw, his ear.

He felt her tighten around his fingers and said, “Sorry, darlin'.”

“For what? What's wrong?”

No easy way to tell her. “Your brother is here.”

“My brother…
what?
” Frantic, splashing, she tried to look around, but Jackson had her pretty much pinned in place. “Where?”

And then, from somewhere midway down the
hill between the house and dock, Trace called out, “Jackson?”

“Ohmigod.” Face coloring hotly, eyes flared, Alani froze. “Not again.”

“He has the rottenest damn timing.” Jackson shifted his fingers inside her, and she went berserk.

“Off!” She shoved at him, splashing more, nearly making him lose hold of the ladder. “Get off of me. Now. Hurry.”

“Shh.” He couldn't help but groan as he eased his fingers away from her. “Calm down. I'll handle it.”

“Jackson?” Trace sounded closer.

Alani squeaked.

He kissed her forehead. “Just stay put.”

Shrill, she asked, “How did he get in? I thought your place was secure!”

“From Trace?” He snorted. “Get real. If he wants in, he gets in. But as it happens, he also has the codes for entry, just as I do for his place and Dare's.” Moving Alani to the side of the ladder, Jackson took two deep breaths and pulled himself up to the edge of the dock. He glanced down, saw Alani staring at his junk up close and personal, now at eye level with her, and wanted to groan again.

Seeing him, Trace paused, but not for long. “Why didn't you answer?” His footfalls rocked the dock.

“Go back up to the house, Trace.”

Taking in Jackson's face, Trace stopped, then cursed.

“Yeah, I know.”

Expression tight with annoyance, Trace said, “Where's Alani?”

“She's here.”
Breathing on my dick.
“Go back up to the house. We'll be there in a minute.”

Trace noticed Alani's bathing suit on the dock, and a
feral sound came from his throat. He dropped his head, paced a circle, then stopped and pointed at Jackson. “Three minutes, got me? Three fucking minutes.”

“Yeah, sure.” What—did Trace think they'd try to finish up first? Didn't he know Alani any better than that? She was damn near ready to drown herself already. The mood had fled her the moment her brother came calling.

When Trace marched away, Jackson dropped back down in the water to submerge his head. He surfaced in time to see Alani half up the ladder, peeking over the edge of the dock.

What a body—understated in the curve department, but so sexy the water should have been steaming around her.

Better still, her adorable, soft bottom was right
there,
in front of him. He hesitated, but what the hell? He rose up and kissed her cheek, making her squawk and fall back onto him.

He went under again, this time with Alani on his head, thrashing so hard she damn near drowned him.

Catching her to him, Jackson held her still and surfaced, gasping for air. She sputtered in his face, so he waited for her to catch her breath, too.

“All right?”

“No.” She pushed hair out of her face. “I don't believe this.”

“You're telling me.” Burying the moment to get down to business, Jackson moved her to the ladder once more. “But Trace is here for a reason, so we gotta get a move on.”

She stared at him. “You think something is wrong?”

“I know it is.” Trace had had that killing look about
him, and only part of that had been due to finding his sister making whoopee in the lake. “Up and out.”

Tucking in her chin, Alani said, “Ha! Not on your life.” She gestured for him to precede her. “Be my guest.”

“You want the peep show, huh?”

“More than I want you to have it.”

“Spoilsport.” Hauling himself out, Jackson tried not to think of what she saw, or what he could have seen if she'd gone ahead of him. He turned and offered her a hand. “Get a move on.”

“Get my towel first.”

Now that her modesty had returned in force, it was an ordeal getting her out of the lake. He held the towel for her as she stepped back into her bottoms, but she didn't bother with the top, choosing instead to wrap tightly in the towel.

When they started up, Trace stepped out to the patio to watch. Jackson knew him well enough that he read the signs of feral rage. Most of the time, Trace was the most urbane, sophisticated man you'd ever meet.

When necessary, he bore the innate cunning and deadly reflexes of a wild animal.

This was one of those times.

At the door, in front of Trace, Jackson gave Alani a quick kiss. “I'll entertain your brother while you go get dried off.”

Trace stood at the edge of the patio, a file folder held loosely in one hand, his gaze focused on the lake.

Jackson wasn't fooled. Trace never missed a thing.

After Alani put up her chin in defiance and marched in, Jackson went to sit on the lounge chair. “Okay, let's hear it. Make it quick, though, because I can guarantee that your sister won't hide for long.”

“It's not in her nature,” Trace agreed, still looking at
the lake. Then lower, maybe even with a little humor: “I can't believe she was skinny-dipping.”

Not about to comment on that, Jackson sat forward, his forearms on his knees, and waited.

Trace surprised him by saying, “You're good for her.” He turned to look at Jackson. “The animals who took her did damage, but they didn't break her. She's coming into her own—more so with you than ever before.”

Jackson didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing. Alani would be fine. She
was
fine.

Despite her naturally reserved personality and circumspect manners, she was stronger than her brother knew.

“I hope you realize the predicament you're in.”

Course he did, but still Jackson said, “Meaning?”

Trace shrugged. “If you do anything to hurt her, it's not going to sit well. With Dare or me.”

“Yeah.” Jackson stared down at his slack hands. “Thing is, I couldn't stay away from her.”

“I know.” Trace went steely again. “Marc Tobin knows it, too, as does someone else. And that's why I'm here.”

His worst suspicions confirmed, Jackson closed his eyes. “Shit.”

“You'll have to handle Alani.”

That got his eyes open again. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means she's going to be in the middle of this—”

“No way.”

“—and it looks like you're the one who'll have to ensure she does as told.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“You started this, Jackson. You changed the dynamics of the relationship. Sooner or later she has to accept what you do and how you do it.” As if it hurt him to say it, Trace ground out the words. “You're the one she'll
listen to now, not me. So it's up to you to make sure she toes the line, and that she stays safe.”

Jackson had a very bad feeling. “Spit it out, damn it.”

“You're going on a shit mission.”

“To see Tobin?”

Trace nodded. “And Alani has to go with you.”

S
TUNNED
, A
LANI PAUSED
in the doorway.

Unwilling to be left in the dark, she'd hastily thrown on an oversize T-shirt over her suit bottoms. Her wet hair hung in tangles down her back. Grass clung to her still-damp feet.

She'd rushed back out, ready to force her way into the conversation.

But what was that about her going on a mission?

Without really giving it much thought, she decided to listen in again.

But it didn't work.

Coiled with tension, Jackson looked toward where she hid. “Come on out, Alani.”

Trace seconded that, saying, “This concerns you, too, honey.”

Knowing her face bloomed with guilty color, Alani stepped into the bright sunshine. “Trace.” When all else failed, she resorted to impeccable manners. “We weren't expecting you.”

Unlike Jackson, Trace hid his aggression with a crooked smile. “Obviously.” He nodded toward Jackson. “Take a seat, okay?”

“Could I get you something to drink first?”

“No.” He strode to her and took her arm, urging her to the seat.

Next to Jackson.

She could feel the urgency in the air, the charge of hostility. It wasn't directed at her, but it left her uneasy all the same.

Tapping a big file folder against his thigh, Trace said, “I wanted to talk to both of you about this.”

Jackson didn't touch her, and she felt the loss of his attention like freezer burn. She looked from Jackson's set profile back to Trace's face. “What's going on?”

“A lot, actually.” Trace pulled up a chair in front of them. “Tobin called for you, but he got me instead.”

“The son of a bitch called her?” Cold, detached, Jackson said softly, “I told him to stay the hell away from her.”

“And if he hadn't been so desperate, he might have listened to your warning.”

“Desperate?” Alani didn't know what to think. “Those people who fired at Jackson? Were they aiming for Marc? Has he been injured? Shot?”

“At this point, it's anyone's guess who was the target that night. Tobin says someone wants him dead. Wants the two of you dead, too.” Trace watched her. “I went to see him, but he'll only talk to Jackson.”

A drumbeat of silence made her ears ring and compressed her lungs so that it was hard to breathe.

Trace inhaled. “And only if you're there, too.”

“Fuck that.” Alive with fury, Jackson sat forward. “I'll make him talk.”

“Sorry, but someone already tried that.”

Alani covered her mouth with a hand. “You?”

“No. He was already in the hospital when I saw him. But someone hurt him. Damn near killed him, actually.” Trace studied her. “He's in a bad way.”

“Jesus,” Jackson muttered, more in disgust than out of sympathy.

Trace handed over a hospital report. “Given what he survived, I'd say he's tougher than I thought.”

After perusing it, Jackson closed the file without a word. He worked his jaw.

Trace didn't look too happy, either. “Somehow he got away, and he's saving all the details for you.”

“I don't understand this,” Alani said. “Why Jackson?”

Jackson answered her. “He knows I can protect him.”

“That's about it,” Trace agreed. “He wants Alani there because he figures she can keep him safe from more of the same, at least from you.”

While Alani struggled to sort it out, Jackson nodded in comprehension. “He wants protection, figures I can give it, but he doesn't trust me not to finish what someone else started.”

Trace reached for Alani's hand. “I'm sorry, honey, but he does trust you. And much as I hate it, we need to find out what we can from him.”

Before Alani could assimilate that, Jackson pushed from his seat. “He's still in a hospital?”

“And will be for a few more days at least.”

Pacing the length of the porch, Jackson said, “He wants us to come there?”

“Yes.”

“Could be a trap.”

“I know.”

The rapid-fire back and forth made Alani's head spin. “Whoa. You're making plans around me!”

“Necessary plans,” Jackson told her. And then to Trace, “You and Dare will cover us?”

“Me inside, Dare outside.”

“When?”

“Sooner the better. There's a chance that when he escaped, if he truly escaped, they weren't able to follow and haven't yet located him.”

None of this made any sense to her. “What do you mean, if he escaped?”

Trace shrugged. “It's possible someone let him go, guessing he'd contact Jackson.”

“Hoping to draw us out,” Jackson said.

The trap he'd mentioned. Feeling a little queasy, she put a hand to her stomach.

Finally Jackson looked at her. “Go get dressed.”

The terse order pushed her past her limit. She slowly rose to her feet. “I beg your pardon?”

Trace collected the files and turned for the patio doors. “I'll be inside.”

That her brother walked off now told her plenty. He wanted her to get ready, too.

“If you don't want to go,” Jackson told her, practically jumping on the possibility, all but heaving in anger, “say the word. I'll figure out something else.”

“Trace said I needed to.”

“Fuck that. Fuck him.” He grabbed her upper arms. “I can work it another way.”

He was concerned for her, but Alani would not let him dictate to her. “How?”

“I don't know yet. It's not for you to worry about it.”

How could she help but worry? With his demands, Marc put her right in the middle of danger. But to be honest with herself, scared as it might make her, she preferred to be with Jackson.

The idea of him being hurt scared her most of all.

She knew she was in love with him, and keeping the words to herself the last few days hadn't been easy. But if she couldn't say it, she could at least show it.

She stepped closer and stared up at him. “I will get dressed.” Her bottom lip quivered, and she swallowed hard. “I will do what needs to be done. But I will not—”

He kissed her hard, stealing her breath, shocking her. His tongue came into her mouth as he lifted her to her tiptoes, forcing her head back, devouring her.

She made a sound of alarm, and he lifted his mouth away.

Breathing hard and deep, he said, “Not how it works, babe. Not now.”

Alani flattened her hands against his chest, but he was as immovable as cold steel.

He let that settle in, let her feel her own helplessness, then said, “You want to play along? Fine. But you'll have to put aside what's between us.
I'll
have to put it aside.”

She wanted to ask what that could be, because he'd never said, but she didn't. Now was definitely not the time to press him on his feelings.

“You do what I say, when I say. You breathe when I tell you to breathe.” He inhaled. “And you run when I tell you to run. No matter what, no questions asked.”

“You're crossing a line, Jackson.”

“It's already crossed.” He released her to rub the back of his neck. “It's been crossed since the day I met you.”

Her heart broke a little. “I don't know what that means.”

Cupping her face, he looked down at her. “It means you need to be away from danger, not surrounded by it.”

Was he counting himself in the group with danger? “You would use this as an excuse to…to…”

“No.” He drew her forward for another kiss, this one softer, almost an apology. “It means I care enough that I can't stomach the thought of you hurt.”

Relief nearly took out her knees. It wasn't exactly a declaration of love, and she knew Jackson cared for a lot of people; he couldn't do his job if he didn't care. But at least he wasn't forcing her away.

“I don't like the idea of you hurt, either.”

His expression hardened. “That's what I'm talking about right there. You can't think that way.”

Was he nuts?

“You will not, under any circumstances, second-guess an order from me.”

“No, I won't.” She exhaled a deep breath, then another, before finding her grit. “But we already discussed this, if you'll recall. Nasty orders aren't necessary. I can follow directions just fine.”

His brow went up. “And yet, you still haven't gone to change your clothes.”

She ignored that. “I can be ready in fifteen minutes if you and Trace want to finalize your plans.”

His mouth flattened—until she went on tiptoe to kiss him. “I trust you, Jackson. It'll be fine.”

And with that parting shot, she walked away from him.

Inside, she shook in fear. For Jackson to be so over-the-top outrageous in his attitude, the situation had to be treacherous.

But she wanted, needed, for him to know that she could handle it. She could handle him and what he did for a living. Dare's wife, Molly, was strong. Trace's wife, Priss, was even more so.

She needed to measure up, or give up—on herself, on Jackson, on a future together. But she loved him, so giving up was not an option.

That meant she had to make this work, and one way or another, she would.

 

T
HE TRIP TO THE HOSPITAL
, made in terse silence, left Alani strained. She wished Jackson would reassure her, but in full-defense mode, he spent his time scanning the area…and thinking.

She didn't want to interrupt his vigilance, but the silence left her so edgy, she couldn't relax.

“Dare is already at the hospital?”

“Stationed somewhere outside at a vantage point, to ensure we get in and out safely. He hasn't spotted anything or anyone yet, or he'd have told me.”

The silence droned on again. Alani cleared her throat. “And Trace is inside?”

“Doing surveillance on the area, making sure Tobin's room isn't being watched by anyone but him.” Jackson glanced at her. “Do as I say and you'll be fine.”

“I wasn't worrying,” she lied. “Just…curious.”

“If you say so.” He flexed his hands on the wheel. “We'll be there in a few minutes. As we go in, stay to my left, a step behind me. Don't look around. It gives away too much.”

“Will you be armed?”

“Yeah, but not the way you think. Don't worry about it.”

His insistence that she was worried bugged her. “I've never done this before. I want to know what to expect.”

“You don't need to know. Just do—”

“As you say. I know.” She sat back in her seat, wanting to ask more questions but deciding against it. The last thing he needed was for her to distract him. “Am I going into the room with you, or waiting in the hall?”

“In the room.” He pushed the file toward her. “And now that you mention it, you ought to take a look at Tobin's photo beforehand. He's a mess, and I don't want you to be…surprised.”

She stared at the file with uneasy curiosity. She wasn't one to faint at the sight of blood, but she'd never seen anyone really hurt, especially not someone she used to care about.

“The photo is held on the folder with a paperclip. Right there in the front.” Since she hesitated, Jackson flipped it open himself. “I can tell you from experience that it always looks worse than it is, especially with head wounds.”

Dear God. Among notes and printouts, the snapshot of Marc jumped out at her. If Jackson hadn't told her it was Marc, she'd never have recognized him. One eye was swollen, black and purple and red. The other had a bandage over it. His entire face sported bruises and stitches, with his nose, jaw and chin grotesquely misshapen.

At her horrified silence, Jackson reached for her hand, gave her a squeeze, then released her again. “Trace says he can talk, but it's not easy with a broken jaw and nose. His eye is bandaged for a fractured eye socket. Nothing that won't heal, if he can steer clear of more trouble.”

“And that's where you come in?”

“That's his plan.”

“What's your plan?”

“Depends on what he has to tell me.” Jackson brooked no argument when he said, “If he set you up, if he had anything to do with your kidnapping, he's a dead man.”

That thought hadn't even occurred to her! “What if he was just after you?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “There's no telling how he's involved, so let's not borrow trouble.”

“Or anticipate murder?”

“I'm prepared for anything. Get used to it.”

Another order?

He pulled into the hospital lot and parked a good
distance from the main entrance. She started to look around, but he caught her chin. “Don't. If anyone is watching, I don't want to tip our hand.”

The idea that anyone could see them now made her skin crawl.
How did he do this job?
“You want them to think you're unaware of the possible danger?”

Derision showed in a crooked smile. “I don't want them to think I'm stupid.” He opened his seat belt and then hers. “But thinking I'm cocky, that I trust Tobin, that'd be a plus. It'd give me the upper hand.” He opened his door. “Stay put until I come around.”

With reflective sunglasses in place, Jackson circled the hood to open her door. Alani stepped out—and moved to his left as he'd instructed. She wanted to ensure that she didn't slow, hinder, or in any other way interfere with his work. He probably expected her to be a liability, one more person he had to protect, but she badly wanted to prove him wrong.

She wanted his attention only as a woman, not as a potential victim.

Parked so far out, they had to pass scraggly landscaping, disreputable cars and a few loiterers. Each time panic tried to come alive inside her, she did her best to conceal it with bravado; if Jackson wasn't concerned, why should she be?

“Deep breaths, honey. Remember, no one is going to take you again.”