Sinclair Connection - Hot On His Trail Part 8

With the man who had kidnapped her! Wasn't that a syndrome, or something? She did not want to be a cliche!

Still, she had to admit that Nick could be very sweet. Tough as he was, cynical as he could be, he wanted such ordinary things from life. Justice. A home and family. Swings. She hated to see him give up those simple dreams.

She heard a grunt from the parlor, and afraid that Nick had hurt himself again, she hurried through the kitchen and parlor and found him on the floor ... doing push-ups.

"Stop that!" she demanded sharply.

Nick ignored her and continued with his exercise. Wearing nothing but his jeans, he concentrated on the matter at hand. Keeping his body rock hard and perfectly aligned as he pushed himself up and slowly lowered himself down so that his nose touched the floor. His muscles bunched, and he'd already worked up a sweat Oh, she did not need this!

"For goodness sake, stop it!" she commanded. He did as she asked, ending his exercise and sitting on the floor to look up at her. She could see the strain on his face, the pain in his eyes.

"Are you insane?" she asked.

"I think ... maybe," he said with a half smile.

"What are you doing?"

He rose slowly and gingerly to his feet. Oh, she wished he'd remained on the floor. Standing, he was too tall, too menacingly tempting. And his bare chest was practically in her face.

"I need to start training."

He needed to heal, to grow stronger. But was she ready for him to be completely well? Strong and healthy and ... oh dear, how would she resist him then? "I'm going to the grocery store. Do you want anything?"

His eyes lit up. "A pack of condoms?"

Shea swallowed hard and tried to maintain her composure. "Be serious."

"I am."

"Fine, I'll pick out food on my own. If I come home with something you don't like, that's just too bad."

"Anything but spinach," he said, making his way to the couch and sitting slowly, favoring his injured leg.

Shea fetched the ottoman from in front of the wing chair and placed it where Nick could rest his leg on it. "I don't see how pus.h.i.+ng yourself is going to help matters," she said testily, watching as he lifted his leg to the ottoman.

"I have to get my strength back," he said.

"What's the hurry?"

He laughed darkly. "What's the hurry? Every lawman in Alabama, and quite a few from out of the state, is looking for us. Then there are your brothers to contend with, and your uncle the judge."

"But some things can't be rushed," she said sensibly. "You can't..."

She squealed when Nick reached up, grabbed her wrist and pulled her down to sit beside him. She landed too close. Hip to hip. Thigh to thigh.

"I don't have the luxury of time, Shea," he said in a low voice. "Some things need to be rushed, like it or not." The way he looked at her, she had to wonder if he was talking about his leg or something else. She figured ... something else. This thing between them was like a monster that grew every day. It was strong; it was powerful. It most definitely had fangs.

Nick lifted his hand to her face, trailed his fingers down her cheek. Her heart fluttered and her nipples hardened. "We could be good together, Shea."

She swallowed hard.

"And I want you so bad. If the situation was different, I'd wine and dine you. I'd bring you flowers and candy and charm you until you just couldn't stand it anymore."

She had no doubt but that he could do just that, if he put his mind to it He didn't take his hand from her face, but continued to touch her with gentle, exploring fingers. "We're two adults, neither of us is involved in a serious relations.h.i.+p, and you can't say the temptation isn't there."

"No, I can't," she admitted. "But I've only known you for a few days."

"What difference does that make?"

"You kidnapped me!"

"I tried to let you go."

Shea licked her lips. She couldn't say she wasn't tempted. "You shot at me."

"But I didn't actually shoot you."

She wondered, still, if he would have shot her if she'd kept running. Somehow she doubted it, no matter what he said. "It doesn't make sense to even think about starting a relations.h.i.+p during a crisis of these proportions. We're caught up in the heat of the moment, but it's not ... this is just..."

He kissed her neck, buried his face there and whispered against her shoulder, "I'm not talking about a relations.h.i.+p, Shea. I'm talking about s.e.x. We're two relatively healthy adults, the attraction is there, we're going to be together for G.o.d knows how long." His hand settled high on her side, his thumb brus.h.i.+ng the swell of her breast. "You said you didn't have time for romance. When was the last time you let a man into your bed, Shea?"

That would be a tough question to answer. "You're talking about casual s.e.x," she whispered. "A quick tumble."

"I didn't say anything about quick," he whispered back, kissing her neck again. Oh, she loved the feel of his mouth there, beneath her ear. She loved the heat and smell and weight of him, leaning into her. It would be so easy to say yes, to give him what he wanted. What she wanted.

She more than wanted Nick, she liked him. She liked him a lot. When was the last time she'd met a man she liked so much? The men she worked with were all caught up in their careers, just as she was. They were selfish, controlling, pretty-boy jerks, for the most part.

Nick was smart, but he didn't play games. He'd been treated badly, by Lauren, by the press, by the police, but he hadn't whined, "Why me?" Not once. He wanted to do something about his problem. He wanted to fix this mess himself. And he wanted her.

He didn't pretend he wanted anything more from her than s.e.x. He laid it all on the line, and as he kissed her neck and settled his hand more securely on her breast, she was tempted. She was sorely tempted. And maybe it was time. Maybe she'd waited long enough.

It took all her willpower, but Shea placed her hands on Nick's chest and pushed. He didn't persist, but moved obediently away from her. "I don't have casual s.e.x," she said, hoping she didn't sound like a complete prude.

"Too bad," he whispered, moving away to lay his head back against the sofa and close his eyes. She was so tempted to reach over and push back that lock of black hair that fell over his sweaty forehead, to lean over him and into him and wrap her legs around him...

Too bad, indeed. If she was a different woman, she'd jump at the chance to sleep with a man like Nick. She would follow her instincts and surprise him right now, with a caress and a kiss and an offer he wouldn't refuse. He was charming, good-looking, strong, and he had a great body. She should know. She'd seen almost all of it! Yes, Nick Taggert was everything a woman might look for in a lover.

But she wasn't what any man was looking for, not where s.e.x was concerned. Men like Nick wanted women who were experienced, who could give and take and enjoy, who could make a man feel good and then walk away with a smile and no regrets. Good heavens, she didn't even know where to start.

Well, she had a pretty good idea where to start, but when it came to practical experience, she had none. And she wasn't about to tell Nick that she was a virgin!

Chapter 8.

A wide-brimmed hat and a polka-dot scarf disguised her hair, and a pair of Aunt Irene's largest sungla.s.ses covered her eyes. She had no choice but to walk to the Jitney Jungle, since the truck was too recognizable and was sure to be spotted by the Marion police as it rumbled through town, and Uncle Henry's Cadillac was well known. Shea didn't need that kind of attention turning her way.

Nick had asked if she wanted him to come along, but his leg was not strong enough. They both knew it. Besides, he was more recognizable than she was! She could alter her appearance to something more casual than was ever shown on television, with no makeup and the borrowed accessories, but Nick ... there was no disguising that face of his. He hadn't argued for long, but finally agreed that it was best if she went alone.

Thankful that she hadn't run into anyone she knew, Shea entered the kitchen and gratefully set the three plastic bags of groceries on the counter. The house was quiet. Too quiet. She locked the door behind her and took the meat and eggs from one bag, putting them in the refrigerator. The walk wasn't a long one, but on a hot day like this she wasn't anxious to leave the groceries out any longer than was necessary. She took the other items into the pantry and arranged them neatly on the shelf. What was here would have to last them awhile. She didn't have a lot of cash left, and writing a check or using her charge card was out of the question.

She removed her disguise and dropped the items on the kitchen table, ruffling her hair and glad to be free of the hat. It had shaded her face from the sun and added to her disguise, but it was too hot to wear a hat!

As she had while she'd put the groceries away, she listened for Nick. Grunting, mumbling, moving about the house. She heard nothing. Maybe he was taking a nap. He needed to do that, after this morning's foolish exercise, but somehow she doubted he was upstairs in Carol's lavender bedroom, napping the afternoon away.

And then it hit her. He was gone. She actually felt dizzy for a moment. He'd just been waiting for her to leave the house so he could make his getaway. He'd tried to dump her once. His chance had come again and he'd jumped at it.

She left the kitchen, somehow sure she wouldn't find him in the dining room or the parlor. And she didn't. She climbed the stairs quickly, listening for sounds of movement on the second floor. All was silent. Just to be sure, she checked each and every room. The silence grew, and she felt something grow inside her. Panic. A sense of loss.

Nick was gone.

But he couldn't have gotten far, she thought, hope springing up inside her. She had the keys to the truck in her purse, the purse she'd carried with her to the grocery store, and no matter how desperate he was to get away, Nick was not foolish enough to steal a judge's long white Cadillac. With vanity plates, no less.

She left through the kitchen door, peeking through the separate garage as she pa.s.sed on her way to the barn. The Caddy was there, safe and sound. She'd told Nick where the barn was, hadn't she? Out back, beyond the line of trees, hidden from view by thick summer foliage. In the wintertime, when the trees were bare and the kudzu was dormant, you could see the old barn from the kitchen window. Weathered and dilapidated, it looked to be a hundred years old. And might be, for all she knew. The house was almost that old.

Before she entered the barn, she caught sight of the truck through the open door. The relief she felt was tangible, and was followed by a rush of anger. Where the h.e.l.l was Nick? As she stepped into the doorway she saw him, sitting in the driver's seat, his hands on the wheel, his eyes locked to hers.

"Going somewhere?" she asked calmly as she approached the truck.

"I thought about it, but someone took the keys."

"They're in my purse," she said, leaning against the driver's door and peering in through the open window. She felt oddly betrayed. How dare he try to desert her like this? "You're not ready to leave, not just yet."

He locked those ice-blue eyes on her and her heart skipped a beat. She couldn't help but remember the kiss, the offer she already regretted turning down. What if she never again felt like this? What if no other man but this one could send her heart racing and her knees trembling?

"You're a good person," he said softly. "I don't want you any more involved than you already are."

It sounded like an excuse, but she believed him.

"If we part company now, you can still claim you were kidnapped and held against your will all this time. No one has to know you helped me."

She opened the truck door and offered her hand, in case Nick needed a.s.sistance leaving the driver's seat. He moved easily, didn't need any help, but he took her hand anyway. Sparks flew the minute their fingers touched. She felt it and so did he. What would she have done if she'd come home and found him truly gone?

"I'm already in too deep," she confessed. "If the state trooper ever makes the connection-"

"What state trooper?" Nick interrupted, pulling her close.

She b.u.mped into his chest, and decided to stare at the b.u.t.tons of the checked s.h.i.+rt Lenny had given him instead of looking into his face. "I had to stop for gas on the way here," she said simply. "A trooper came in, and I ... I pretended you were my husband and we were on our way to Florida to see my mother."

"You lied."

Shea nodded. "And then the trooper came outside, and you took off your hat, so I ... I kissed you so he wouldn't see your face." Her face flushed warm, and she could only imagine how brightly she blushed. How embarra.s.sing! "It was necessary," she said in a matter-of-fact voice.

He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look up, into his eyes. "You shouldn't have done that," he whispered.

"He didn't recognize me. He might never make the connection."

Nick towered above her. "And then again, he might. Dammit, Shea. I don't want you involved in my mess! I want you out of here!"

"I think it's too late for that," she said softly. "I'm already involved."

Nick ignored the urge to kiss Shea again, taking her arm and leading her out of the barn and toward the big white house. At least now he knew why her taste and smell, her gentle kiss, had seemed so familiar. She'd lied and then kissed him in order to hide him from a state trooper! Foolish woman.

He had never intended to involve her this way, to pull her into his own h.e.l.l and make her a part of it. She was a good person, and while he might make fun of her sense of justice and old-fas.h.i.+oned views on s.e.x, he also admired her. She knew who she was and what she wanted. Few people were so lucky.

"If he remembers you, we'll say I had a gun and I forced you to kiss me."

"I will say no such thing!" she said. "Besides, the gun was back at Lenny's and there isn't another one."

"I will not have you thrown in jail for helping me," he insisted. "As a matter of fact, I don't want your help anymore. My leg is better. I can handle things from here on my own."

"No way."

"Not enough story for you?" he snapped. "What else do you want?"

"I want to find out who really killed Gary Winkler."

"You can't do that from your Aunt Irene's house."

"We can start, but you're right. To finish this we'll have to go back to Huntsville."

He shook his head as he reached for the kitchen door. "There is no we, weathergirl. Get that through your head." The door slammed behind them, and Shea took the time to lock it. She was a careful girl. "There is most definitely a we, Nick Taggert," she said as she turned to face him. "You might not like it. I might not like it. But there is most definitely a we."

She took his arm and pulled him gently toward the dining room. He followed willingly, watching the back of her head, the curve of her neck and the seductive swell of her b.u.t.t in those tight denim shorts. She didn't stop in the dining room or head up the stairs, but led him into the parlor and to the sofa where he'd kissed her, where he'd propositioned her and been turned down flat.

"Sit down," she ordered, releasing him to sit where he had before, with the ottoman at his feet. He propped up his throbbing leg and tugged gently until Shea sat down beside him.

He placed his arm around her shoulder, and she didn't protest, but laid her head there and relaxed. She seemed to melt into him, soft and compliant, restive and anxious. All that and more. When had he decided that it was his duty to protect her? He had kidnapped her, threatened her and frightened her. If anyone else did those things to Shea he would be sorely tempted to kill the guilty party.

"I just don't want you hurt," he said softly. "Dammit, you shouldn't be here."

"What would you have done without me?"

Bled to death in the middle of nowhere, most likely, though he wasn't prepared to admit that fact out loud. "I would've done fine without you."

She snorted. "Unlikely."

"Want me to thank you again?" he teased.

She hesitated, and his insides twisted. "You'd better not," she whispered.

Ah, she was close to giving in, to collapsing. But Shea didn't have casual s.e.x, and he didn't have time for anything else.

She snuggled against him and rested one arm across his midsection. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?