Читать книгу Striking Distance - Debra Webb - Страница 22

Chapter 13

Tasha moistened a cloth and washed her face. She couldn’t be sure how long he would give her in here alone, but she needed some time to get a better grip on her strained emotions. She might be tough but she was still only human. Playing this guy’s game had been hard work.

There was something not quite right here, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. If he’d been the stone-cold killer he appeared to be she’d be dead now. It didn’t take a master’s degree in psych to see it...and she had one.

She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that a small part of her wanted to get the hell out of here ASAP. But the professional in her needed to see this through. She was close—right where Lucas wanted her. If she could just stay alive she could bring this guy down.

Whether he was as bad as he wanted the world to believe had nothing to do with her mission. Lucas wanted her close to him so he could be stopped. She got the distinct impression that as soon as he had led them to the man who’d hired him, he would be terminated.

That thought gave her an uncharacteristic pause. The hesitation confused her...but it was there. She’d have to deal with it.

She shook off the thought. That was the number one rule in the spy business—never, ever let the enemy close enough to make it matter.

The door opened, and the enemy in question barged in.

“Did you forget how to knock?” she asked the face glaring at her in the mirror.

“You never answered my question.”

Back to that again, huh?

She spun around on her bare heel, bracing herself against the sink and staring up at him. “I already told you that I hit on you because you were the cutest guy in the club. Deal with it.” The images Lucas had captured of this guy didn’t do him justice, especially his eyes. Nor had the dim lighting in that club last night. His eyes were...amazing.

Suppressing a shiver she started to give him her back. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “What’s this?” He tipped her chin up and looked first at her healing lip then at the fading bruise on her cheek.

Concealer and makeup had covered the evidence of the roughing up she’d taken night before last. The low lighting in the club had helped, as well. But with the makeup long gone and in the bright light of day, there was no hiding her battle scars.

“My roommate and I had a disagreement.” She drew away from his touch. “It happens.” She turned back to the mirror and grimaced at her reflection. She looked like hell. Nothing she could do about that since she had no cosmetics, not even a brush. She combed her fingers through her tousled hair. The net jacket that had looked so sexy last night reminded her of snagged pantyhose this morning. She peeled it off and stuffed it in the trash can next to the toilet, purposely bending from the waist to startle her host.

“And this?” He gestured to her right shoulderblade when she straightened once more. “Did your roommate take a knife to you as well?”

Dammit, she’d forgotten about that old battle scar. Her first scuffle with a would-be mugger once she’d moved out on her own in college. He might have drawn first blood, but he’d also been the only one lying on the ground when the police finally arrived.

“I guess I forgot to mention that between my successful attempts at running away from the system, I survived a couple of foster homes. Nobody really wanted to deal with a rebellious teenager, but they didn’t want to lose the government check with my name on it.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. And it didn’t, because she was only making this stuff up. But, like a good movie, it was based on true stories she’d heard while interning in a social services office. “People don’t bother with troubled teens unless it’s for one of two reasons.” She looked him straight in the eye via the mirror, sensing that she would see a reaction. “For the money or the sex.”

He flinched. She resisted the urge to pump her fist in the air and scream yes. She’d gotten to him...maybe just barely beneath the surface, but someplace under the skin all the same. She’d sensed a resistance in him before when she brought up the past. He definitely did not like going there. The first piece of the puzzle. She might not have the opportunity to dig more deeply, but she’d learn what she could until it was over.

She turned around, stared up into those cold, hard eyes once more. “What about you?” She touched his jaw, tracing the outline of an old scar that gave him a permanent dimple before he could evade her touch. Her gaze moved lower, to another scar where his shirt opened into a vee at his throat. She hadn’t been able to see that one last night in the low lighting. A jagged little line a shade or two lighter than the rest of his skin.

Some unknown force driving her, she reached toward him with her other hand. Oddly he didn’t move away. She released the next button of his shirt. And then another and another until it lay open to his waist where he’d tucked it into his jeans. Too caught up in the moment to note his reaction other than the fact that he allowed her to continue, she pulled the shirt free of his jeans, pushing the sides farther apart so that she could see more of his well-defined torso.

For one long moment she couldn’t breathe. There were too many scars to count...some small, thin lines...others much more lethal looking. She wanted to ask him about them, but when she opened her mouth no words would come. Instead she touched one particularly brutal-looking scar so damn close to his heart she couldn’t imagine how he’d survived the wound. She felt him tense beneath her fingertips, but, again, he didn’t move away.

That extra instinct she possessed was screaming at her now, warning that she was about to dive headlong into dangerous territory...delve past some unseen boundary of no return, and still, she couldn’t stop herself. She looked into those ice-blue eyes, letting him see every confusing emotion she felt at that moment.

“Still think I’m cute?”

Right now—this moment—was the turning point. Her response to him now would determine whether or not he allowed her full access. He refused to trust her, but some part of him wanted to believe that she was telling him the truth.

Her future depended upon this one defining second.

She went up on tiptoe, and even then, reaching that grim mouth was a task. He stood several inches taller than her. She brushed her lips lightly to his. Something electric zipped through her...startled her.

He pulled away...eyed her suspiciously.

Just when she felt certain he wouldn’t respond, he grabbed her, whirled her around and pinned her against the wall with his big body. His mouth came down hard on hers. The kiss was punishing, savage. A mixture of desire and fear surged through her veins. She couldn’t deny the attraction, but his touch was brutal.

She shoved at his chest. Every muscle her body encountered was like granite. Her lip burned, the wound reopening beneath his onslaught. The tang of blood had her pushing harder against him.

“Wait,” she murmured breathlessly when he broke the seal of their lips just long enough to take a breath. She touched her lip, swiped at the trickle of blood. He watched her intently, his own breath ragged, but a good deal more controlled than hers.

Just then she remembered the monitor and made a conscious effort to slow her respiration...her heartbeat. If Maverick was still monitoring her activity, she didn’t want him barging in.

“Not like that,” she whispered. “Like this.” She told herself it was a mistake, but that didn’t stop her. She kissed him tenderly...slowly. He didn’t move a muscle...held perfectly still. She kissed those firm lips until her own unexpected reaction forced her to break the contact. Not taking the time to evaluate her motives, she pressed her lips to the tiny scar on his cheek and then moved lower. Scar after scar she acknowledged with her lips...tracing each with her tongue. Her fingers fisted in the worn soft cotton of his shirt, and she fought the crazy need swirling inside her. This was work, she repeated mentally over and over. She dropped down to her knees, careful not to break the contact of her lips against his skin.

She was winning this battle. He braced his hands against the wall, his eyes closed and for the first time since she’d met him, the hard lines of his face softened just a fraction. But that was the only thing soft about him. Flirting with danger, she drew her tongue along the warm flesh just above his waistband. If she didn’t stop now...she might have to finish this but every instinct told her that seduction was her only chance of reaching this guy.

Without warning, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. When her gaze collided with his, he looked totally unaffected. Anything he’d felt was long gone.

“I’ll take you home now.”

He released her and walked out of the room. Tasha let go a shaky breath and sagged against the wall to pull herself together. She was hot...damn hot and wet. She’d enjoyed that more than she should have—definitely more than he had, it seemed.

Damned fool, she railed at herself silently.

She knew better than to let that happen.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she just shook her head. The chance of a lifetime and she was going to screw it up playing amateur psychologist.

Whatever this guy’s problem, it wasn’t her job to save him. Her mission was to deliver him up to Lucas Camp for one thing and one thing only.

To die.