The Protected (Fbi Psychics) (30 page)

She paused and looked over at him, smiling a little. “You’ll what? Put your hands on me? Haven’t you seen what happens when you do that?”

His mouth spasmed. “I don’t need to touch you to make you pay. A bullet in the back of your head will suffice.”

“You have to catch up with me first.” She shrugged and left the room. The clock was running. She had to gather up anything that could be used to find Alex. She had to gather up anything and everything of hers, but she’d already taken care of most of that. A few other pieces of information.

So much to do . . . so little time.

* * *

GUS
expected to sleep lightly, or not at all.

He was in bed with somebody else, and that shouldn’t be conducive to restfulness.

It was something of a surprise when he found himself drifting to slow awareness. Slow . . . pleasant . . . awareness.

He took stock of his surroundings, mentally taking note. Had anything changed? Dirty, smoke-stained ceiling overhead—all of that had been the same as last night. Ugly art on the walls—it had been just as ugly the night before. Thick, blackout curtains on the windows—the only change there was the thin stream of light filtering in through the narrow gap. Hotel room—a piss-poor excuse of a room.

Damn, what he wouldn’t give to take Vaughnne to a place of luxury, where crystal and gold glinted, where the bed was as soft as a cloud and the cotton sheets felt as smooth and soft as silk against her skin as he lay her down to make love to her.

Instead, they were in this old, run-down pile of bricks that had seen better days.

His brain processed everything else, even as he dwelled a little longer on the fantasy. He still had his weapon, gripped in his right hand. And his left hand . . . he closed his eyes and let himself linger in the moment. A few more seconds, he decided, couldn’t really hurt anything, could it? If this was all they’d ever have, why not enjoy what he could?

Vaughnne muttered in her sleep and snuggled in closer, her face tucked against his neck, her arm slung over his waist. She was as close to him as she could be without crawling on top of him, and if she decided to do that, he wouldn’t mind.

He’d actually enjoy it. He’d love to see her riding him, freeing his hands to touch that strong, limber body.

Heat spread through him as he thought of it, and he had to fight the urge to bring that hot fantasy to life, right then, right there. His dick insisted that he’d warned her. He’d told her he planned on having her again, and if she wanted that not to happen, she should have gone to the other bed.

But the other part of him remembered how she had looked at him with sad, somber eyes the previous day when she’d pulled a gun on him.

Saving me.
It was a lovely, naïve thing that she thought he could actually
be
saved at this point in his life. He’d killed. He’d stolen. He’d long since grown immune to the wet sound a bone made as he broke it. He’d done so many awful things, and up until Alex had come into his life, he’d been about ready to go down in a blaze of glory, too. Tired of it all.

Now he was still tired, but mostly, he was tired of running. Tired of being afraid of what would happen. He didn’t fear for himself, but for Alex. Now for her.

She thought she was saving him.

So he could let himself be a little less of a monster and not be the greedy bastard he truly was.

If she wanted him—

She woke up.

* * *

SHE’D
expected to get maybe an hour of sleep. Two, if she was lucky.

That was how life had been going ever since she’d hit Orlando, after all. Nothing went the way she’d hoped.

But when she woke up, her head wasn’t muzzy with exhaustion, and her body wasn’t raging in fury at the thought of getting out of bed. It was just growling a little.

And Gus lay in the bed next to her.

His long, lean form, so strong, so warm. His hand curved over the swell of her hip, and as she lay there, his fingers spread wide, for just a minute, as though he was learning the feel of her. She wanted to do the very same thing to him, spread her hands open and learn every damn inch of his body.

She caught her breath, remembering what he’d told her.

But instead of him rolling her onto her back, when he moved, it was to pull away.

“We need to get on the road,” he said, his voice level. Emotionless.

She sat up, staring at his naked back. “The road?” she echoed. What had happened to all his talk about getting her naked? Getting inside her again?

“Yes. I have to make a few calls about getting us across the border.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I take it you didn’t bring your passport?”

“Actually, I do have it.” Although illegally entering a country was probably going to be the least of her crimes by the time this was all said and done. And just
what
had happened to getting her naked? She stared at him a minute longer, but all he did was shift off the bed, crouching by the bag he’d left on the floor.

And that was it. Watching his bowed head, she realized his mind was already on other things.
Fine. I’m not going to let him see I’m put out over this. I’m not. And I’m
not
put out by it. I’m . . .

Climbing out of bed, she headed to the minuscule bathroom and locked herself inside.

Oh, the hell I’m not
.

Emotion tangled inside her, too complicated to really put her finger on. Hurt? Yeah. There was some of that, for certain. Bruised pride? Maybe a little. Okay, more than a little. It was arousing, knowing somebody
wanted
you.
Really
wanted you . . . and then to have him
not
want you? It was a punch in the gut. The hurt and bruised pride twisted in her, but it went deeper than that. She couldn’t even figure out everything she felt, either.

Disappointment seemed like such a minor word for the empty ache she felt inside. It went too deep for just mere
disappointment
.

“I don’t have time for this,” she muttered. Squaring her shoulders, she made herself stare at her reflection. She looked sad and miserable and lost, like a girl who’d been stood up by the cute guy in high school.

That wasn’t going to cut it. She had a job to do, and it was going to get ugly before it got better. Hell, it might not
get
better for her. She’d already acknowledged that fact. But if she walked into this looking like a whipped puppy, then it was just going to snowball into one hell of a bad mess, and that, she did not need.

Taking a deep breath, she shoved everything aside. So Gus didn’t seem to want her the way he’d made her think. In the end, that didn’t matter. Not to the job, at least, and the job was why she was here. The job and only the job. Having the hot and sexy Gus along the wayside had been both a bonus and a complication, but in the end, he wasn’t the focus.

Alex was.

She’d been sent to Orlando to watch over a kid.

Somebody else was taking point on that job now, but that didn’t mean she was done. Her current objective was to keep that kid safe, and the threat to him had grown exponentially. She had to get her game on and stay focused.

With that in mind, she turned away from the mirror and stripped out of her clothes. She needed to shower and clear her head. She needed coffee, but they’d grab that on the road.

Game on
, she told herself as she climbed under the miserable, stingy spray.
Game on
.

* * *

THE
woman who ducked into the bathroom had been quiet, somber, and he couldn’t help but think he’d hurt her. He wouldn’t let that get to him. He was used to hurting women. Not physically, but when the job included assignments like seduction and espionage, people did end up with their feelings bruised, their pride.

It wasn’t so easy to shrug it off when the woman was Vaughnne, and he told himself that maybe he’d misunderstood her. After all, she’d told him he was arrogant, had mouthed off to him before they fell asleep. He was just respecting her wishes, really.

The door to the bathroom opened and the woman came striding out, wearing nothing but a bath towel, her hair pulled back and away from her face. Her eyes cut to his, and any sign of sadness or pain was completely gone.

She
looked arrogant now. Arrogant, aloof, and the light in her eyes was one of warning.

He stood by the door, waiting, watching.

And damn near swallowed his tongue as she stood in front of the neat little stack of clothes and dropped her towel.

Beads of water still clung to her shoulders, rolled down the slope of her breast as she grabbed a pair of panties. Black. It seemed black and white were her preferred colors in wardrobe choices, so that was all he’d grabbed for her, but he would love to see her in red silk. Blue satin. Emerald green. Anything. Everything. Nothing.

His heart slammed against his ribs as she pulled the panties up over the taut, round curve of her ass. Then she shot him a dark look. “If we need to get on the road, don’t you think you should get ready?”

Ready?
If he were any readier, he might die of a heart attack.

She stared at him for a moment and then looked away, that disdainful expression still on her face. She reached for her bra and he locked his gaze on her breasts, memorized those curves for the few brief moments he had left to him. Perfect, he decided. Just about perfect. Full enough for his hands, nothing more and nothing less, her skin that soft, warm brown, and her nipples were a deeper, darker shade. Puckered, and tight, too.

¿
Qué carajo?
What was he doing? She wanted him. He wanted her. Saving her . . . from what? Himself? She’d said a hundred times if she’d wanted to leave, she’d do just that. And if she tried, he’d let her. He’d already decided that. Because he didn’t need the assurance that she’d look after Alejandro. She would already do it. That was just who she was.

So what or who was he trying to save her from?

He dropped the bag he was holding.

Vaughnne shot him another dark look as she reached for a shirt. “You know, if you’d wanted to stare at my tits, you should have done something about it earlier. We need to get going, right?”

Closing the distance between them, he caught the lapels of the black shirt before she could start to button it up. “It can wait,” he said gruffly. Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth to the curve between her neck and shoulder.

Vaughnne stiffened.

He breathed in the scent of her skin, warm and soft, smelling of the lousy soap the hotel had provided, and something else . . . female, unique to her. The lotion she slicked on her skin, maybe. He didn’t know, but the scent was enough to drive him mad. Raking his teeth along her skin, he caught the collar of her shirt and dragged it down.

She shoved her hands between them. “Hold on there, pal,” she said, her lip curling.

He lifted a hand and cupped her face, dragging his thumb across her mouth, watching as hunger danced in her gaze even as she edged backward.

“I’m not a plaything.” She glared at him. “Hot little pillow talk last night, and then this morning, it’s all serious shit, but five seconds later, you want to put your hands on me again? I don’t do this hot and cold stuff, Gus.”

“Gustavo.” He leaned in, flicking his tongue across her lower lip.

She tensed. “What?”

“My name. It’s Gustavo. And I
always
want to put my hands on you, Vaughnne,” he whispered, teasing the entrance to her mouth, but she still wouldn’t open for him. “But last night, you talked as though that wasn’t what you wanted. I thought perhaps I’d respect your wishes . . . for once.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, some of the tension eased from her body. “You were trying to play the nice guy?”

“It’s not a role I’m used to.” He caught her lip between his teeth and tugged. “Perhaps it is arrogance. I know women. I know when they want me, and if they don’t, I know how to
make
them want me. You want me . . . and if you didn’t, I could make you. But then you do silly, naïve things like try and save me. And I lay in bed this morning thinking I didn’t want to
make
you want me. If you wanted me . . .”

Earlier, she’d fisted her hands against his chest, the tension in her arms keeping him from pulling her close. Now, she sighed and stroked her hands upward, sliding them around his neck. “Gus . . . Gustavo . . . you know, you really strike me as the typical Casanova—you should know everything there is to know about women. So how can you be so damn stupid?”

“I’m not . . . not usually. But you undo me. You make me forget everything . . . make me
want
to forget everything, even when I cannot.” He skimmed a hand up her back and tangled it in the long, dense tail of her hair. “Let me take you to bed, Vaughnne.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” She leaned back and the slumberous heat in her gaze was like fire in his veins. “Let
me
take
you
.”

* * *

HIS
eyes went hot. So hot, they blazed like silver fire. She pushed against his shoulders, watching him, waiting . . . and he acquiesced, moving backward and letting her push him back onto the bed. She rolled her shoulders, shrugging out of the shirt she’d never gotten around to buttoning up. He sat on the edge of the bed and she stood in front of him, catching his shirt in her hands and dragging it up over his head.

He didn’t do a damn thing to help her, just sat there, watching her with those burning, hungry eyes.

It was almost as erotic as his touch. She went to her knees in front of him and toyed with the button of his jeans until he went back on his elbows. She trailed the tips of her fingers across his belly and watched as the muscles quivered under his skin.

Before she could get too distracted, she reached for the bag she’d left on the floor and hauled it closer, dipping a hand into the interior pocket where she’d stashed the rest of the condoms she’d bought. She pulled out one, wished they had the time to indulge in a hell of a lot more.

But this was all they had.

Something tightened in her throat.