Tag, You're It! (16 page)

Neither did working for a living. He'd tried the Wall Street route, started at the bottom of the heap, spent enddays with a phone glued to his ear, and come off the cold call desk with an investor list anyone in his field would envy. He could read people better than any broker Wall Street had ever turned loose on the unsuspecting public. Problem was he couldn't read the market. And rich men didn't give second chances to brokers who lost their money. Or to ones who'd run afoul of their own class.

To be truthful, it was a toss-up as to what had done him in, bad investments or being dumped by Alex Scott. He'd decided to blame it on Alex, for breaking off their engagement just when he was at his lowest. And all because he'd used her connections. Wasn't that a wife's duty, he asked himself? To put aside her own selfish opinions and family affiliations, to support her husband. Fine, they hadn't actually been married, but she'd had his ring on her finger, hadn't she? And yet at the first sign of trouble she'd taken it off with barely a secthought for him. The others had pulled their money and made sure his inadequacy was well known, but that had been business. Alex was personal. She'd pay for doubting him, Bennet had promised himself. For hurting and humiliating him. When the time was right, she'd pay. Just as soon as he was back in a position where he could make her suffer.

For a while he'd limped along with the two or three investors too old or too stupid to dump him. Until he'd lost their money as well. That final disaster had goaded him into one last desperate investment. And that investment had been a stroke of luck, a lottery win.

He'd bought a share of a shipwreck, one that was supposed to pay off big. He'd known going in it was nothing more than a gamble, no different that placing his last dollar on the spin of a roulette wheel. And yet, investors had begged and pleaded for a stake in that treasure, smiling and patting each other on the back just to be allowed a single share. They'd been blinded by the glory of it, the tiny hope of success shining so bright they couldn't see the bottompit they were throwing their money into.

It still amazed him that the shipwreck had paid off. Of course, the owners of the diving company had been stupid enough to declare every last doubloon they'd found—for which Bennet was eternally grateful, since he'd used that stake to fund his own treasure hunt.

He might not have been handy with the stock market, but he could sell water to a drowning man. What he sold now was excitement, adventure, the chance for men and women with more money than God to buy something money couldn't buy. Something priceless.

It was laughingly easy. All it took was a convincing artifact—an ancient map or a historical journal—and an equally convincing Indiana Jones type to follow said map or journal to the amazing treasure at its end. Not so simple, Bennet had soon discovered. But since failure on his first treasure hunt would have provided a poor track record, he'd "found" a small hoard, compliments of the Internet and anonymous auction purchases.

The investors weren't entirely happy about the small return, but as they'd been guaranteed nothing, what could they do? And anyway, it hadn't stopped most of them from investing in his next venture. The total failure of that second treasure hunt had cost him one or two of the choosier inbut he'd had no trouble replacing them, and in replacing them Bennet had learned a very valuable lesson. It paid to know whose money he took. He hadn't been careful there, and this third game had changed on him. The time had come to change it back, to put himself in control again.

His regular treasure hunter had gone off and gotten himself a broken leg, and he'd found another, hadn't he? He'd hired Tag Donovan to look for the treasure, figuring when Donovan didn't find anything he'd put together a nice, tidy, convincing report to placate the losers. Well, a report wasn't going to be enough anymore. That's where Alex came into the picture.

And since Donovan was going to be squeamish where she was concerned, Bennet had no choice but to adapt again. "There's a change of plans, Mick," he said, knowing he could trust Mick and Franky to follow his instructions to the letter. No matter what the instructions were.

"Just tell me what you want me to do, Mr. Harper."

Bennet never got tired of hearing those words. It was amazing what you could get people to do for you. When you had enough money.

THE ROOM WAS EMPTY WHEN ALEX WOKE UP.

Thank god. The bad part about getting buzzed on chocolate and sugar, aside from being completely out of control and making a fool of herself, was that she remembered every second of it. Including the part where she'd jumped Tag Donovan.

What she'd needed, after a shower and a pot of coffee, was fresh air. She left the hotel, picked a direction at random, and walked aimlessly. It wasn't all she could have asked for, seeing the sky around stone and steel and glass, but at least the sky was blue, the air cool, and the sun warm on her face.

And Tag Donovan was nowhere in sight.

So why did she feel like she was being watched? Probably she was just paranoid, but after being accosted twice in Casteel, she wasn't taking any chances.

She stopped at the next corner, trapped with a handful of city dwellers at the mercy of the little red Do Not Walk man. She casually turned her head to see who was behind her. A couple of women window shopping, a family, a man walking along, comparing the slip of paper in his hand with the building addresses. Various other pedestrians crowded the sidewalks, no one in the least alarming. But she didn't relax.

The light changed, she crossed the street, and the pesky tingle between her shoulder blades started up again. So she ducked into a lingerie boutique and picked up the first thing that came to hand. She lifted the thong and push-up bra high enough so she could look between the swatches of red lace and out the front window. At the guy looking back in at her.

His eyes widened, then he gave her a smile and a thumbs-up and sauntered off, looking for all the world like he was on his way someplace else. She might even have blown off the chance encounter, except for one thing. The guy getting his jollies by leering at lingerie was the same guy who'd been trying to match addresses on the last street.

Alex hung the panty set back up, then really looked at it. Tasteful but sexy. Once upon a time she'd worn lingerie like that on a regular basis. Thongs weren't very practical for horseback, and lace chafed when you hiked a few dozen miles and got sweaty. She'd left all that behind when she quit the circuit a decade before, and she was surprised to find that she kind of missed it—not the circuit. She missed wearing pretty things and feeling feminine. There was strength in bringing a man to his knees with just a look. But it wasn't the kind of strength she needed at the moment.

She took a deep breath and left the store, turning back toward the hotel because it was the only course of action that made sense. The cops wouldn't believe she was being followed, so Tag was her only hope. And Tag, damn him, would probably tell her she was just imagining things. They'd argue about it for a few minutes and then he might admit it, by which time they'd both be in trouble. Okay, so maybe it was better that Tag wasn't around.

She looked over her shoulder a couple of times, trying to be casual but getting more and more pissed off when she saw the same guy keeping pace behind her. By the time she sighted the hotel at the end of the next block she'd had enough.

She stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and turned around. The stalker's eyes widened. Alex recognized the split-second hesitation for a frantic attempt to consider his options and decide he had no choice but to keep walking. He veered to the right, but Alex sidestepped so she was right in front of him again. Confrontation might not be the smartest thing, but what could he do on a busy street?

"Why are you following me?" she asked him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled, head down, angling to go around her.

Alex caught his sleeve. He jerked to a stop and looked at her, half panicked, half pissed off. They stood there staring at each other until the screech of tires broke the standoff.

Alex whipped around and saw a long, black car at the curb behind her, the driver leaning over to yell, "Get in, Franky."

"Franky?" she echoed. "Franky from Casteel?" She shifted her grip to his shirt front, although she had no idea what she was going to do with him. Give him another shot to the balls?

He broke her grip with one arm, cupped his crotch with the other, and made a break for the car. Alex was one step behind him until an arm wrapped around her waist, holding her back long enough for Franky to jump in the car. Mick sent it shooting away from the curb and into traffic, tires squealing, horns blaring, pedestrians gawking.

Alex slapped Tag's hands off her and spun around, drilling a finger into his chest. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Protective custody." He caught her finger so she couldn't poke him again. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Those guys are the ones who tried to kidnap me in Casteel."

"And what, you were going to jump in the car and make it easy for them? How can you be so sure they were the same men anyway? They give you their names again?"

"Well, yeah."

Tag threw his hands up in the air, walked away, then back. "They have to be the stupidest kidnappers ever."

"Why are you so disgusted? And why did the second guy show up at the same time you did?"

"They must've split up," Tag said. "One of them was following you, and one of them was following me."

"Not so stupid." Alex searched his face, but if he was lying she couldn't see it. "Where did you go this morning?"

"I had breakfast with the guy who comped the room for us."

"Why didn't you invite me? I'm hungry in the morning, just like normal people."

"Need another chocolate fix?"

"You're changing the subject," she said, refusing to be embarrassed. Or amused.

"He's a hound, okay?"

"It's not like I haven't dealt with the type before."

"True, but I know how you hate it, so I thought I'd spare you the trouble of fending him off."

"It sounds more like you wanted to keep my presence a secret."

"If you don't trust me, there's no point in taking this any further."

"Easy to say when you know I'm a target and I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," Tag said, going inside and across the lobby, bypassing the elevator to stiff-arm his way through the door to the stairs. "You can still take off, disappear until this all blows over. In fact that's the best idea I've had in at least a week."

Alex double-timed after him. "How did they know we would come to Denver?"

"It was the logical next step, after we stole the map."

He had her there, but Alex couldn't shake the feeling she was missing something. "What aren't you telling me?"

Tag pushed through the door two floors above and headed for their room. "You're like a dog with a bone," he said, "a pesky, annoying dog that won't stop yapping."

She smiled, far from being insulted. She'd rather be compared to an animal than a person any day of the year. "Your point is?"

"Whether I lie or tell the truth is moot."

"No, it's not."

"It is when you don't believe anything I tell you. I don't know what happened to you, but I'm sick of being punished for it."

She knew he was turning the tables on her, changing the subject, but he'd pushed a button she couldn't ignore. "I'm not punishing you."

"You can stand there and tell me that with a straight face but don't lie to yourself." He keyed the door lock, stalked into the room, and began to throw things in his duffel.

Alex stood in the middle of the room, watching him, at a loss. Tag had been irritated, exasperated, aggravated, and downright mad at her so many times she'd gotten used to it. This time, though, she could see he was on the ragged edge of control. What she didn't know was why. "Tag," she said, laying a hand his arm, "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Why are you so angry?"

He grabbed her and plastered his mouth to hers. She should have felt violated, or at the very least insulted. But he broke the kiss first. "That's why" he said.

Alex stared at him, shocked, disappointed,
turned on
. And then she was on him. No way was she letting him kiss her like that, like he wanted to get back at her for something. If anybody needed to get back at anybody, it was her. He'd dragged her into this… this stupidity. Now he thought he could kiss her, get her all stirred up, and then just walk away?

Tag fell back on the bed, Alex on top of him, disaster on his mind. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than Alex's hands on him, but he knew it could only complicate things. And things were already complicated enough.

"Wait," he said, "we shouldn't do this."

"Nope." She ran her hands down his chest to the snap on his jeans and the complications faded to insignificance. Once she learned he was an FBI agent and he was using her to accomplish his mission, she'd hate him anyway. Adding sex into the mix wouldn't make it any worse. Probably.

He had two choices. Do it right, or do it right now. She reared up and stuck her tongue in his ear at the same time her hand snaked down into his pants. His eyes rolled back in his head, his temperature shot up so fast it felt like his skull was going to explode, and right now was the only opleft. Especially since somehow his clothes were disappearing. So were Alex's, and if he hadn't completely lost the ability to think he'd have taken a couple of minutes to appreciate the long, lean lines of her.

There was a brief power struggle, which Tag won by flipping her onto her back, staking her arms to the mattress, and dropping his head to her breast. Instead of taking the fight out of her, it felt like he'd found her "on" switch.

She wrapped those hiker's legs of hers around his waist and practically crushed his spine. Okay, he thought with his one remaining operative brain cell. They weren't going to waste any time, so he'd give her what she wanted. Since it was what he wanted, too, it worked out for everyone.

He searched for his pants, fumbling in the pocket for one of the condoms he'd picked up that morning. Alex plucked it out of his hands, ripped it open with her teeth, and rolled it on. Her eyes were on his the whole time, her hands slipping down and back—

Tag lost it, fisting his hand in her hair and dragging her head back, plundering her mouth while he buried himself inside her. And even though he'd have bet every last nugget of the Lost Spaniard that she couldn't make him any more desperate, he'd have lost. And his control shredded in diproportion to his level of desperation.

He'd known she was a strong woman, but she was also an elemental one, a woman in tune with her body, and almost scarily intuitive about his. She did things he couldn't describe except in terms of how they made him feel, and how they made him feel was criminally, intensely, erotifantastic.

Her hands moved over him, lingering at places he'd never thought were so sensitive. Her body met the rhythm his set, seeming to tighten around him more with each thrust. Her eyes held his the whole time, stormy gray and intense, until he all but lost himself in them, in her. And just when he thought that sex with Alex couldn't possibly get any better, it did. She rose up and used her mouth on him. Her teeth scraped along the straining ridge of muscle on his chest, his shoulder, finally reaching his mouth, her tongue tangling with his. At the same time she reached down between their bodies and touched him in a way that dragged a soul-deep groan out of him, and when she came he'd barely begun to enjoy the way her body clenched around him before the agony and ecstasy of it yanked him over the edge.

By the time she was through with him he was flat on his back, weak as a limp rag and dragging in air like he hadn't drawn breath for an hour. She, on the other hand, had barely broken a sweat.

"I'm not sure you're human," Tag managed to mumble.

"You did most of the work," she pointed out. "I tried to help, but you were pretty insistent about being on top."

"If you'd been on top I think you'd have killed me."

"Not until I was done with you," she said, stretching her hands high overhead and then running them down her sides all the way to her hips, which did a little shimmy like she was enjoying an aftershock of the orgasm they'd just shared.

Tag nearly swallowed his tongue.

He shifted to his side with his head supported on one bent arm, and slid the back of his fingers down from her collarbone, between her breasts to her belly. His eyes were on her the whole time.

She didn't like the look in them. There was intensity and mischief, both shadowed with something calculating, something dark and dangerous—

He rolled the rest of the way suddenly, kneeling over her. Before she could scoot away, he'd wound her wrists tightly with his shirt, pulled them over her head and tied the arms of the shirt to the headboard. The binding didn't hurt, but she couldn't get free.

"What's this all about," she asked, hearing the breathless sound of her own voice. She twisted her wrists, feeling a small flutter deep in the pit of her belly. It wasn't entirely fear.

"You're a strong woman." Tag lay on his side next to her again, weighing her legs down with one of his. "You like to be in control," he said, easing one hand up her rib cage, "but there's strength in being vulnerable, and more pleasure than you can imagine."

"What are you doing?"