Together Again? Page 6

  In the hallway, he stopped to press her back against the wall, then plundered and pillaged her mouth, her neck, tugging open his sweatshirt, yanking down the tank and her bra to latch on to her nipple.

  She cried out, fisted her hands in his hair and panted for breath. “First door,” she gasped.

  He headed toward it with such fierce intent, she would have laughed, if she could breathe. In her room, he turned to the bed, but she directed him to the bathroom because that’s where she kept a—

  “Condom,” he said, reading her mind this time.

  “Top drawer—”

  He set her on the bathroom counter and pulled out the top drawer. After grabbing a foil packet, he opened it while she yanked open his shirt and brought her mouth to his chest.

  Somehow his shirt melted away, and then hers. Her skirt followed, as did his pants. Then he stepped between her legs, and holding her thighs wide, he drove into her, the power of his stroke making her gasp with unspeakable pleasure so that she arched back. He promptly attached his mouth to her exposed throat, sucking on a patch of her skin there as he took her. It was just as she’d craved—Ian, six-plus feet of solid, warm, hard, ungiving muscle, wrapped around her, in her.

  And there was nowhere on earth she’d rather be. Please let this be real….

  By his third thrust, she was trembling, on the very edge. His hands tightened on her thighs, opening her further to him, and rearing his head, he captured her gaze in his. “This is real, Chloe.”

  Oh, God, she’d spoken out loud?

  “Whether the fortune-teller said it or not, this is real. You and me.”

  And then he sank into her again, and then again, until she was hovering on a plateau, held there, suspended, lost in the way he looked at her, touched her, said her name in that low, raw voice. He filled her senses as he reached between them and stroked her with a knowing thumb, so that she came all over him, wildly, messily, gasping for breath. Then he started all over again, and this time, they both went over together.

  “So real,” he said on a thread of breath, sinking to his knees, pulling her down with him.

  They lay there on the floor, gasping for breath, their bodies damp and cooling, hearts thundering against each other for a long time. Chloe ran her hand up the muscles taut in his back, unable to hold back her smile as he finally lifted his head.

  “What are you thinking?” he murmured.

  “Thank God some things never change.”

  He let out a low, rough laugh, a glorious sound, then slid down her body, dropping kisses as he went, on her breasts, her belly, and then…“Oh!”

  “So you still like that,” he whispered against her. “Let’s see if you still like…” And he brought his fingers and tongue into the action. “Yeah?”

  She couldn’t answer, she was far too busy being whipped back into a frothy frenzy. And afterward, when she was still trembling, he rolled, pulling her over the top of him so that she straddled his hips.

  Bending over him, she set her hands along his jaw and kissed him deeply. “What now, cowboy?” she purred.

  His hands went to her hips. “Well, you could ride me off into the sunset.”

  Which she did.

  THEY MADE LOVE UNTIL close to dawn, and then finally collapsed into her bed. Snuggled in his arms, Chloe lay there with one of those stupid I’ve-had-amazing-sex grins on her face. She absorbed the warmth of him next to her, and let her fingers drift over his skin, feeling the tough sinew beneath. “You kept in shape.”

  “I still play ball. For an old guys’ league.”

  “Old guys, huh?” Didn’t feel older, just built. Seriously built. She grazed her lips over his throat. “You still got the moves?”

  He let out a soft chuckle against her temple and wrapped his arms around her. “You tell me.”

  Oh, yeah, he had the moves, and he spent the next twenty minutes proving it yet again.

  They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and for a woman who’d been so fiercely independent for so long, it felt incredibly good.

  Ian’s pager went off at dawn, and he got out of bed. Hair tousled, an extremely male, satisfied smile curving his lips, he grabbed a two-minute shower and came out of the bathroom with a pair of knit boxers low on his hips.

  She fought the urge to tug them back down.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  “Always.” He leaned over the bed, his hands on either side of her hips and kissed her until her toes curled.

  “I wish I’d tossed your pager out the window.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised.

  “Take my spare key on the desk in the living room by my laptop—in case I’m at the office.”

  He smiled his surprise. “You sure?”

  So damn sure. “Yes.”

  “’Kay.” And then he kissed her one more time before he left, a kiss that left her body humming.

  She sighed dreamily, then tried to go back to sleep. She couldn’t. Instead she got up and headed to the shower, where she leaned back against the tiles as the hot water pummeled her deliciously sated body.

  She was still grinning like a fool.

  A fool in love.

  Finding the energy, she reached for the soap, shoved her hair out of her eyes and—

  Stared down the barrel of a gun.

  She thought maybe she gasped in terror. She definitely staggered backward, coming up against the tile.

  “Hello, Chloe,” Steve said from behind the gun.

  9

  IAN GOT TO THE OFFICE and took one look at Danny’s tight face. “What?”“They lost Steve and Al.”

  Ian went still. “What? The text message said—”

  “Yeah.” Danny was tall, six-five, and as the point guard on Ian’s winter basketball league, that height came in handy. It did not come in handy for pacing the small, tight office, and he banged his head on the hanging light. “Damn it!” He rubbed the spot. “They’ve still got Al in their sites somewhere in Mexico City. But they lost visual of Steve at some point after midnight. Never picked it back up again.”

  “And we’re just finding out? Christ, that was—” Ian looked at his cell phone for the time “—eight hours ago. He could be anywhere, he could be going after anyone he thinks will lead us to him. He could be—” He went still, galvanized by a sudden fear. “Here.”

  “What?”

  “He could be here by now. Shit.” He ran toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Danny asked.

  “Chloe’s.”

  STEVE LOOKED THE SAME AS always, like he’d raided a techno geek’s closet. He wore a short-sleeved plaid shirt, baggy pants that failed to hide that he looked as if he’d made a few too many visits to Krispy Kreme and white athletic shoes with black dress socks. Still, for being fashion challenged and carrying an extra forty pounds, the guy was quick. He reached into the shower for Chloe, who cringed back, wincing, expecting to be raped, maimed, murdered—

  The water shut off.

  She cracked an eye. Steve was holding out a towel, which she snatched and wrapped around herself. “What are you doing here?”

  “Came for tea and crumpets.” He grabbed her wrist in a tight, unbreakable grip.

  She resisted but he simply tugged her out of the shower. “How did you get in?”

  “Turns out fencing antiques isn’t my only talent. I can pick a mean lock.”

  “W-where are we going?”

  “To talk.” He didn’t let go of her until they were in the living room. There, he shoved her to the couch.

  Standing over her, hands on his hips, scowl on his face, he looked big and tough and mean, and nothing at all like the quiet, hardworking man who’d brought her his books to reconcile once a month.

  “What have you told them?” he demanded.

  The towel he’d given her just barely wrapped around her wet body, and she was holding it tightly, hoping everything was covered. “Told who?”

  Steve pinched the
bridge of his nose, sighed, then, looming over her, he held the barrel of the gun so that it was an inch from her temple. “One more time. What have you told them?”

  Oh, God, oh, God. “Um, the police?”

  In answer, he pressed the gun to her head.

  “Nothing!” she cried, trying to sink back against the couch as far as she could go. “I didn’t—”

  “I know you sneaked into our office. I know you found the second set of files.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking, I heard a noise, and I went to investigate—

  “Liar.” He grabbed her by the nape of her neck and hauled her upright. The gun flickered in front of her eyes, then settled against the side of her head.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

  “Here’s the thing. Al’s going down, okay? They have his prints on the bodies.”

  Oh, God. There were bodies?

  “They can link him to things that they can’t link me to. Only they know he didn’t work alone.” He smiled into her panicked face. “I’m thinking you got greedy, see? You were working the books, both sets of them, and you saw our profits. You decided to come onboard. You demanded it, in fact, or you’d turn us in. The two of you cut me out first, of course, which makes me the victim—”

  “No—”

  “Oh, yes.” At that, he hauled her across the living room, to her desk, which her laptop sat on. He flipped up the top, opened a Word document, and then shoved her into the chair. “Start typing. To Whom It May Concern.”

  She stared up at him in horror.

  He waved his gun. “Hel-lo-o-o-o?”

  She jumped and put her fingers on the keyboard. To Whom It May Concern…

  “The guilt is too much. I’ve betrayed Steve—” He broke off when she didn’t type, and pressed the cold metal of the gun to her temple. “The guilt is too much,” he repeated with a patience that belied the tight grip he had on her.

  Heart in her throat, her vision hampered by her own tears, she began to type, but then Steve went still. “Did you hear that?” he whispered.

  She hadn’t heard a thing over the booming of her heart in her ears, but there…she heard the front door handle rattle.

  Ian.

  Before she could process the thought, Steve yanked her out of the chair and back against him, the gun once again settling against her temple. “Don’t make a sound,” he hissed, and pulled her around the desk and back against the wall, where they’d be hidden from anyone coming in the front door.

  The handle rattled again. She heard a rustling and envisioned him searching his pockets for the key she’d given him. She looked at her desk. Next to the laptop was the key.

  In true Ian fashion, he’d forgotten it.

  “Chloe?” he yelled through the door. “Are you still in there?”

  She opened her mouth but Steve tightened his grip. She felt the gun against her head, bruising her temple.

  “Chloe!” He pounded on the door.

  And then…silence.

  She went still, trying to hear something, anything, but then she knew. He was running around the back, where he’d come in the kitchen door. There’d be a fight, with no guarantee of the outcome.

  She couldn’t let that happen. “I feel funny,” she whispered to Steve.

  “Ah, hell. Don’t you dare puke.” He loosened his grip and she whirled, grabbing the laptop off the desk as she did. Using her momentum as Steve aimed the gun at her, she cracked him right in the face with the hard plastic casing.

  The computer fell to the floor, leaving Steve, who’d lost his hold on her, standing there with a stunned look on his face. The gun lay uselessly on the floor beside him.

  Run, Chloe told herself, but her feet didn’t move.

  Steve, still staring at her, blinked once, then fell backward to the ground, hitting with a sickening thud that didn’t bode well for his head.

  The kitchen door burst open and Ian came running, skidding to a stop at the sight of her standing there in nothing but a towel, over Steve’s prone body.

  “I’m fine,” she told him, then pointed to Steve. “But him, I’m not so sure about.”

  Ian rolled Steve over, secured him with a set of handcuffs, kicked the gun away from him, then surged to his feet and reached for Chloe, who’d never been more happy to be held by someone in her entire life.

  More officers came running in, including Ian’s partner, and for a moment, everything became wild and chaotic all over again. Questions were asked, answers given and then more questions.

  Chloe’s head whirled with all she’d been through since yesterday evening, but Ian hadn’t let go of her except to pull off his shirt and put it on her. He was holding her so close she hadn’t yet managed to get out of the towel and into some clothes.

  “I can’t believe I almost let him get you.” Ian ran his hands up and down her yet again, as if to reassure himself she was really here, alive and whole.

  “It’s over,” she said, now comforting him. “And we’re okay.”

  “Yeah.” Ian stroked her hair and glanced over her shoulder at Steve, who was still looking dazed as the cops pulled him to his feet. Paramedics had arrived but he wasn’t going to the hospital, or if he was, it’d be a short trip on the way to jail, where he’d soon enough be reunited with Al, his brother and partner in crime.

  When everyone eventually piled out of the house, they were finally alone. It wasn’t for long—Ian had to go into work to face the mountain of paperwork—but for now, Chloe just held him, never wanting to let go.

  “I wanted to be the one to save you, you know,” he said.

  “You did.”

  “No. You didn’t need saving.”

  “Of course I did.” Emotion swamped her. “I needed you to save me from certain incorrect notions. Such as the world is black and white. But I now know it’s not. There’s gray, a lot of it, along with…”

  He seemed to hold his breath. “With…”

  “Love.” She smiled tremulously and set her hands on his jaw.

  He wrapped her close. “God, I love you, Chloe. Always have, always will.”

  “Now see, that’s working for me.” Her voice was husky with all the emotion swamping her. “I love you, too, Ian. I always have, always will.” She let out a soggy laugh. “I guess this means my karma couldn’t have really taken a vacation to the Bahamas, right?”

  He still had his arms around her tightly. “I thought you didn’t believe in karma.”

  “Maybe I was just scared of it.” She cupped his face. “I’ve faced scarier things now. And I’ve learned life’s too short not to live it to its fullest.”

  “Well, then—” he smiled and slipped a hand beneath the shirt he’d given her, and then tugged on the towel beneath “—let’s get to that living….”