The Winter Man (8 page)

She was surprised. “When did you see me doing that?”

“Many times,” he said surprisingly. The smile faded. “I
thought a lot of you. I was in a dangerous profession and a long way from wanting to settle down. But I used to think that if I ever did, you'd be high on my list of prospects.” His face darkened. “And then John started feeding me lies about you. And I listened.”

She started to draw away, but he caught her wrists and held her there, his black eyes steady and probing.

“I wish I could take it back,” he said. “But I can't. I'm really sorry for the way I treated you. Especially at the funeral home.”

The feel of his big, warm hands around her wrists wasn't threatening to her. They were comforting. “You didn't know me,” she said.

“I didn't want to know you.” He grimaced. “Maybe I won't ever go off the deep end like my mother did. But I've got a past that's going to make it hard for any woman to live with me on a permanent basis. I make my living with guns, Millie,” he added, watching her face. “I work for a government agency that sends me in when every other option fails. It's dangerous work. I can't afford any sort of distraction. That's why I don't get involved with nice girls. Girls like you.”

It began to make sense. Good time girls didn't expect happy endings. They, like Tony, lived for the moment. He liked his job, had no thought of ever quitting it, and he was telling Millie to back off. In a nice way, but definitely the same message.

She forced a smile. “You're warning me off,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Should I be flattered?”

He let go of her wrists. “I don't want to hurt you,” he said solemnly. “I could. You're not worldly.”

She got to her feet and went back to the sofa and sat down. “I guess I'm not. I'm a librarian,” she said philosophically. “Library work isn't Indiana Jones stuff.”

“No. But if you read military history, you're an armchair adventurer, at least,” he teased.

She smiled, hiding her misery. “What do you like to read?”

“The classics,” he said. “But I'm partial to military history myself.”

“Do you have a hobby?” she asked, fascinated with what she was learning about him.

He grinned. “I like to cook,” he told her. “I can make almost anything, even French pastries.”

She laughed. “So can I.”

He pursed his lips. “Pity we don't have a kitchen here.”

“Isn't it, just?”

He stood up and stretched, powerful muscles rippling in his chest and arms. “It's been a long day. I usually stay up late, but I'm pretty tired. Watch another movie, if you like. It won't disturb me.”

She nodded, but she looked uncomfortable.

“What is it?” he asked.

She grimaced. “I was so upset that I forgot to pack anything to sleep in…”

“Now that's a problem I can solve,” he told her. He went into his bedroom, rummaged in his suitcase and came back with a round-necked white T-shirt in pristine condition. “It will swallow you whole. As good as a gown, I'd say.” He grinned.

She laughed and fought a blush. He really was huge. It would come down to her knees and wrap around her three times. “Thanks.”

“Hey. We're bunkmates. We have to share, right?” He winked at her. “Sleep tight.”

“You, too.”

He went into his room and closed the door. She turned off the television and withdrew into her own room. After she'd put out the light, she lay in the darkness, loving the feel and smell of the T-shirt against her skin. She wondered if she could find some excuse for not giving it back.

She was delighted that he'd told her the true story of his background. She understood him much better. He had good reasons for wanting to stay uninvolved with women. But she wondered if he was beginning to feel the need for companionship, more than just a night's worth. And he'd mentioned watching Millie read to the kids, as if he'd cherished the memory. She felt warm all over at the idea that he'd felt something for her, until John killed it with his lies.

Her heart grew heavy. It was very well to think that she'd touched that cold heart, but he wasn't saying that
he loved her or wanted to live with her. He was just looking after her, probably out of guilt because of the way he'd treated her. This wasn't a prelude to a life of happy togetherness. To Tony, it was just another job. She was a job. She'd do well to remember that and get her priorities straight. When the danger was over, she'd go back to her library and Tony would leave and never look back.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. It was almost morning by the time she finally managed it.

* * *

Two more days passed with no sign of any hired killer. Tony was in contact with both Frank and his detective friend. There was no gossip on the streets about the hit. That bothered Tony. He knew that the killer probably knew where Millie was, and he was biding his time until he saw an opening. This could drag on for weeks. Millie couldn't stay out of work forever, and Tony had a commitment coming up overseas. But there didn't seem to be any way to draw the hired killer out into the open.

Millie was wearing on him. He found himself watching her. She was pretty, in a way, and her figure was tantalizing. He was aroused by her. She didn't dress in a provocative manner, but she had pert little tip-tilted breasts that weren't disguised by her bra or the knit blouses she wore. He spent more and more time thinking how they might feel in his mouth.

It made him ill-tempered. He was used to women who
gave out without reservations. Millie was attracted to him, too. He could see it. Frank had said that she was in love with him. He was tempted to see how far she'd let him go, but he wasn't certain about his own ability to stop in time. He hadn't had a woman in months, and he wasn't a man who could abstain for long periods of time.

Millie noticed his growing irritability and guessed that he didn't like having her cramp his style. Obviously he couldn't cavort with another woman while he was protecting her. She felt guilty. She would have liked to have gone home, and have him smile at her again, even if it meant giving him up to some flashy woman. She was resigned to the fact that he was never going to want her. He'd said several times that she really wasn't his type.

The next night, he paced the floor until he made her uncomfortable enough to go to bed.

“Don't rush off on my account,” he said curtly. “I'm just not used to this much inactivity.”

“No, I'm really sleepy,” she assured him. “Good night.”

“Yeah. Good night.” He said it with pure sarcasm.

She put on his T-shirt and stretched out on the bed with the lights still on. She was as restless as he was, and probably just as uncomfortable. She ached for something, for kisses, for caresses, for human contact. He hadn't touched her since he'd held her hands while he was talking about his mother. But he'd watched her. His eyes were narrow and covetous. She might be innocent, but she
recognized that heat in him. It was in her, too, and she didn't know what to do about it. She'd never felt it so strongly before.

She stretched again, moaning softly as she thought how sweet it would be to lie in Tony's arms and let him kiss her until the aching stopped.

She heard the phone ring. A couple of minutes later, he rapped on her door and opened it without asking if she was decent.

He froze in the doorway, his eyes homing to the sharp peaks of her breasts and the long, uncovered length of her pretty legs. His teeth clenched. “A shark must feel like this, just before he bites,” he said in a harsh tone, and he laughed.

“What?” she asked, breathless.

He closed the door behind him, tossed the cell phone he'd been using onto the dresser and made a beeline for the bed.

While she was conferring with herself about what to do next, he moved onto the bed, slid his big, warm hands under the T-shirt, and started kissing her as if he were starved. The combination of the heated, urgent kiss and his warm, enormous hands on her taut breasts was more than her prim scruples could overcome. She arched up into his hands and moaned so hungrily that he swept between her long legs without a second's hesitation, letting her feel what she already knew—that he wanted her.

It was every dream of passion she'd ever had, coming
true. He smelled of rich spice and soap. His long, wavy black hair was unbound, around his shoulders. She gathered it into her hands and savored the silky feel of it, loving its length. She looked down through a heated mist at his mouth on her soft skin, completely covering one small breast. It was so erotic that she arched up off the bed to force his mouth closer. She closed her eyes, shivering with tension that built and built until she thought she might die of the ache.

The T-shirt was on the floor somewhere, along with his pajama bottoms. His mouth was all over her, on her throat, her mouth, her breasts, sliding down with expert cunning to her flat belly and lingering there while his hands teased at the edge of her briefs. He felt her trembling, heard her breathing catch. Just a few more seconds, he thought with pure lust, and she wouldn't be able to stop him. He was on fire, so far gone that his head was spinning with the sweetness of her skin under his mouth.

She felt his hand go under her briefs and when he touched her, instead of completing the arousal, it shocked her into the realization of what they were about to start. He would leave town and go back to work and never even remember what had happened. She would be left with a tarnished dream and a possible pregnancy, because she had nothing to use for birth control.

But when she pushed at his shoulders, he didn't realize she was trying to stop him. He was working the briefs off
and she was almost too hungry to argue. But she had to. He'd never forgive her…

“I can't!” she burst out. “Tony, I can't! You have to stop!”

He lifted his head. His eyes were glazed. He was breathing like a distance runner. His broad, muscular, hair-covered chest was heaving with every breath. “What?” he choked.

“I…I can't!” she repeated.

The breathing didn't slow, and his hand was still moving. “Why not?”

“I'm not on the pill!” she burst out.

“Not on the pill.” He blinked. “Not on the pill.”

“I could get pregnant!” she insisted.

Sanity came back in a cold rush. He took slow breaths until he could control himself. That only made it worse, because he'd been totally helpless and she'd seen it. His eyes grew hot with anger, with condemnation.

With one smooth motion, he bounded away from her and rolled off the bed to his feet. He jerked on his pajama bottoms and turned to face her, still condemning as she scrambled under the bedcover.

“Well, if that doesn't beat all!” he muttered furiously. “You give me a come-hither look, open your arms to me and give it back like a professional. Then at the last minute, when I'm out of my mind, you jerk back and say I have to stop because you could get pregnant! That's just priceless! Priceless!”

“I didn't realize…!” She tried to defend herself.

“Of all the dirty, mean tricks to play on a man, that's the worst,” he said in a tone that could have taken rust off. “You were getting even, weren't you? I treated you badly at John's funeral and you wanted payback?”

She flushed and dropped her gaze. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry! She bit her lower lip, hard, as she fought for control. “I didn't do it to get even.”

“The hell you didn't!”

“I didn't have anything to use,” she protested shakily. “I've never…I haven't…I don't know…”

“You knew all that when I came in here,” he said coldly. “You could have said so then.”

He was right, of course. She could have. But she'd never been in Tony's arms, held close by him kissed by him, and she'd have died for the experience. It had been like paradise, for those few heated minutes before she came to her senses. She couldn't defend herself. He was probably hurting. She gritted her teeth. She didn't even know how to apologize.

He glared at the picture she made, wrapped up in the cover, only her head showing, her eyes hidden, her face white. If he hadn't been hurting so badly, he might have been less volatile in his treatment of her. But the pain was bad.

He turned and slammed out of the room, leaving the door ajar, fuming and cursing under his breath. His cell phone rang and rang. He finally realized it was on the
dresser in Millie's room. She hadn't moved an inch when he scooped it up and opened it.

“Hello,” he said furiously.

“Hi, stranger,” came a purring, sexy tone. “I heard from Frank that you were in town. How about a little action? I don't have a thing to do tonight.”

“Nothing to do?” His voice changed. The tone dropped. He sounded seductive, aware that he was still standing in the doorway of Millie's room and that she could hear every word. “We can't have that. Tell you what, baby, why don't you come over here and we'll have a couple of drinks and see what develops.”

“What a nice idea!” she enthused. “Since I already know the name of the hotel, and the room number,” she said, “I'll see you in about, ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes will be fine. Just enough time for me to have a shower and get into something comfortable. See you, sweetheart.”

He didn't look back. He could imagine Millie's expression, and it made him feel good. She'd given him a nasty surprise, it was fair play for him to give her one. He went right into his own room, swiped up some clean clothes and walked right into the bathroom to shower without a single regret.