Читать книгу Just A Little Bit Dangerous - Linda Castillo - Страница 11

Abby told herself the shaking was from the cold, but she knew it wasn’t. She wanted to believe the tremors racking her body were because she was scared and desperate and furious that her plan to escape had been foiled. But she knew the knot in her gut and racing pulse had more to do with the way the tall cowboy with the unfriendly eyes and dangerously sensual mouth had looked at her when she’d had her body pressed against his.

Holy cow, she’d almost kissed him! A cop, for God’s sake. A man who was going to do his utmost to ruin any chances she had of saving her life. A man who was apparently hardened and cynical—and not nearly as vulnerable as she’d thought.

The most lethal kind of man there was—at least to a woman in her position.

Abby wasn’t above using her feminine charms to get what she wanted. She’d seen the way he looked at her; she’d seen the heat in his eyes, discerned the weakness that made men predictable. Of course, she wouldn’t have let things go too far; she had her limits. But she definitely would have gone far enough to get the job done. She wasn’t sure what that made her. Desperate perhaps. She could live with that. She’d learned to live with a lot of things in the past year.

Of course, she wouldn’t have to compromise herself now that Mr. By-the-Book had thwarted her plans. Damn him. Maybe she was in a lot more trouble than she’d ever imagined.

Abby realized then that she was going to have to be careful with this man. She’d nearly crossed a line. She’d nearly done something irrevocable. Something that would have made her hate herself. She’d nearly made a mistake that would have cost her another piece of her soul. Worse was the realization that for a crazy instant, she wondered if she might even enjoy it.

Oh, dear God, maybe she was crazy.

The cowboy stared at her, his thick brows riding low over eyes filled with a cop’s skepticism. “Good try, Blondie. You get a gold star for originality, but I’m still not buying it.”

She met his gaze levelly. “It’s true.”

“And I’m the Easter bunny.”

“I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

“Why are you trying so hard to convince me, then?”

“Because you’re my last hope.”

He took another step back, a predator who’d just been swiped by the nasty claws of a much smaller, but infinitely dangerous prey. “I meant what I said about playing games,” he said. “That includes making up stories. You got that?”

“That isn’t a story, and I sure as hell don’t consider my life a game.”

“Neither do I.”

“Maybe you just don’t give a damn.”

“I give a damn—about the law. I’ve got a job to do. A job that’s not always pleasant. You’re not making it any easier for either of us.”

A gust of wind rattled the door in its frame. Dragging her gaze away from him, Abby looked out the grimy window to the swirl of white beyond. Despair pressed down on her. She felt trapped, like a rabbit caught in a snare with a pack of dogs waiting to tear it to shreds.

“That storm’s not going to let up any time soon.” His voice caught her gaze. He was watching her, his expression as hard and steely as his eyes. “Let’s try to get through this without any more problems, all right?”

“I’m innocent,” she said. “I didn’t kill anyone. I was framed, and I’m going to prove it. I just need—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He raised a hand to silence her. “I’m taking you back and that’s the end of it.”

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them back with fierce determination. She would not cry in front of this man. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone for a long, long time. She refused to start now. If Abby Nichols had anything at all left, it was pride. Crying never helped much anyway.

Still, she was thankful when he turned away. Some of the tension drained out of her when she didn’t have to meet that cold-steel gaze of his. She wasn’t going to waste her time trying to convince him of her innocence. Not this hard-headed lawman who saw the world in stark black and white. Her only hope was to gain his trust one inch at a time, then slip away when he wasn’t expecting it. If she didn’t get a chance—if he didn’t give her the chance—she would just have to make one.

“There are a some instant meals in my saddlebag,” he said after a moment. “Why don’t you pull out a couple, and we’ll eat?”

Abby’s stomach growled at the mention of food. She hadn’t eaten since the previous night, and after a physically grueling day she was starved. Without looking at him, she started toward the saddlebag he’d dropped near the door. Kneeling next to the bag, she opened the leather flap. Four individually packaged meals were stacked neatly, along with a collapsible container of water. She removed two of the meals.

“All you have to do is open the meal,” he said from across the room. “There’s a chemical inside that heats the food.”

She turned to ask him how that worked, but the sight of him standing with his back to her—his butt as bare as a baby’s—made her gasp in shock. She knew better than to stare, but before she could stop herself, her eyes did a slow, dangerous sweep, covering every well-muscled inch of a body that gave new meaning to the word perfect.

All the blood in her brain did a quick downward spiral. “W-what do you think you’re doing?” she cried.

He looked at her over his shoulder as he stepped into a pair of jeans and jerked them up quickly over his hips. “Getting into some dry clothes. Thanks to you, I’ve spent the past two hours in wet pants.”

“I know that, but why are you…why did you…”

“You didn’t think I was going to change my pants outside in the blizzard, did you?”

“I didn’t think you were going to strip right in front of me!”

“Your back was turned.” He faced her, and Abby’s mouth went dry. “I didn’t think you’d peek.”

“I…didn’t.”

“I guess that’s why you’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing.” The heat in her cheeks didn’t even come close to a blush; it was more like a forest fire.

“Whatever you say.”

His jeans were well-worn and hugged his lean hips like a pair of snakeskin gloves. His heavy flannel shirt hung open, revealing a muscled chest covered with a sprinkling of black hair that arrowed down to his waistband and disappeared. Abby swallowed hard and tried not to notice that he hadn’t bothered with the top button of those jeans.

Oh, my.

Scooping his wet jeans and long johns off the floor, he started toward her. “What’s your name, anyway?” he asked.

“M-my name?”

“Or do you prefer Blondie? That’s fine by me. A lot of convicts go by aliases.”

“Don’t call me a convict,” she snapped.

He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

“My name is Abby. Abby Nichols.”

“I’m Jake.”

Jake. The name fit him, she realized. Almost as well as those jeans.

“It looks like we might be stuck here together for a while, Abby. I figured we ought to be on a first-name basis.”

She stepped back and watched him hang the jeans and long johns he’d been wearing neatly above the stone hearth.

“How are those meals coming?” he asked.

She looked down at the two unopened containers in her hand. At some point in the last five minutes her appetite had vanished. Maybe about the time when she’d looked over and seen… Mercy, she didn’t want to think about what she’d seen. “I wasn’t sure how to…activate the heat.”

Coming up beside her, he took one of the meals and proceeded to tear off the foil label. “Like this. See?”

He moved with the self-assurance of a man who was comfortable with himself and didn’t necessarily give a damn what the rest of the world thought. Abby watched, fascinated by his hands as the steaming food came into view.

“I hope you like chicken and broccoli.” He handed one of the containers to her. “I’m partial to beef myself.”

“I’d eat nails if they were cooked and warm.” Abby took her food to the hearth.

He walked over to the saddlebag, removed two plastic forks and two containers of water, then met her at the hearth. “The floor’s cold. You can sit on the bedroll if you want.” He handed her water in a collapsible cup.

Abby accepted it and drank deeply. Slipping off the duster, she unrolled the bedroll—an insulated sleeping bag—then settled onto it with her legs crossed. Jake did the same and soon they were forking chicken chunks and broccoli from their instant meals.

They ate in silence, the only sound coming from the raging wind outside, the patter of driving snow against the windows and the occasional crackling of wood as the fire consumed it.

The chicken was surprisingly good, and Abby savored every bite with the fervor of a woman who didn’t know when or where she’d get her next meal. She was going to need her strength in the coming days. As long as she stayed calm and kept her head, she could still get out of this. Jake Madigan might be an armed lawman, but he wasn’t the kind of man who could shoot a woman in the back if she took off on him. All she needed was the opportunity and a little luck.

The warmth from the fire was relaxing her. Abby snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag and drifted. Her tummy was full. She could feel her cold-stiffened muscles beginning to unwind. Her hands no longer ached. She could feel her feet again. Sleepiness was starting to descend like a lavender mist clouding her brain one micro-droplet at a time.

She was aware of Jake moving around the cabin. She heard the door open. Felt the draft of cold air against her face. The clanging of metal against metal.

She opened her eyes to find him kneeling at the hearth, setting a large, scarred kettle over the embers. He looked at her intently, then turned back to the kettle. “I’m melting snow so we can wash up,” he said.

Sitting up, she looked around. The windows were dark now, the interior of the cabin illuminated only by the fire. Outside, the wind howled like an angry banshee. Abby could still hear the snow blasting against the glass on the north side. Jake had taken their empty food containers into the kitchen. She must have fallen asleep.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“You got somewhere to go?”

“No, I’m just wondering.”

“A little after seven.”

Early evening. It felt like the middle of the night. With the storm waging all-out war on the cabin, it seemed as if they were the only two people on earth. The thought should have disturbed her, but it didn’t. In fact, as she sat on the bedroll and looked around the cabin, a strange and comforting warmth encompassed her. The storm might be an inconvenience, but it would buy her some time. Besides, she’d much rather be stuck in this cabin than in a prison cell. At least here there was the hope of escape.

The water in the kettle was steaming. Abby watched Jake use one of his leather gloves to take it from the fire and carry it to the kitchen where he dumped the hot water into a larger pail of snow. She swallowed hard when he turned his back to her and proceeded to strip off his shirt.

Broad shoulders rounded with muscle came into view as he draped the shirt neatly over the back of a chair. The faded jeans he wore rode low on his narrow hips. Jeans that left no doubt about Jake Madigan’s masculinity. Abby tried not to stare, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. The man was built like Adonis. The fire cast yellow light over the room, turning his skin to bronze, his muscled shoulders and back to a sculpted work of art. His biceps flexed as he leaned forward and splashed water onto his face. His wet skin glistened when he dipped a small rag into the water and brought it to his neck and chest, then lower.

Abby turned abruptly away and stared into the hearth, watching the flames leap over the dry wood. Her face felt hot. But she knew it had nothing to do with the fire, and everything to do with the man. She could hear the water splashing on the other side of the room, but for the effect he was having on her body, he may as well have been right next to her.

“I can warm you some water if you want it.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice. He’d come up behind her. Still sitting on the floor in front of the fire, Abby had to crane her neck straight up to look at him. She tried not to look at his chest or that thatch of dark hair covering it. Oh, Lord, she wished he’d put his shirt back on.

“Um, well…yes. I’d…like that.”

What was wrong with her voice?

Without speaking, he went back to the kitchen area and jerked on his shirt, then slipped into his duster. Taking both the kettle and the pail, he went out the door.

Abby’s heart rate quickened. While the thought of washing up with warm water sounded heavenly, she had no idea how she would manage it with Jake around. He might be comfortable strutting around half naked, but she wasn’t.

He came back through the door with a gust of wind and a swirl of snow. She watched as he set the kettle over the fire, then set the larger pail half full of snow back on the rickety table in the kitchen area.

“The water ought to be boiling in a few minutes,” he said. “I found a couple of clean towels you can use.”

“Thank you.” Rising, she looked frantically around the cabin. It was small and sparse and offered absolutely no privacy.

The water in the kettle began to steam. Abby stared at it, then risked a look at Jake. “I can’t bathe with you in here,” she said in her most reasonable voice.

He cut her a look that was half annoyed, half incredulous. “I’ll turn my back.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do. I just…can’t…with you in here.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.”

“Would you mind terribly waiting outside for a couple of minutes? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to take off in this weather.”

“Lady, it’s snowing like crazy with subzero wind chills. I don’t feel like getting hypothermic just so you take a damn bath.”

She looked longingly at the water. “Please, just give me five minutes of privacy.” Her gaze traveled to the fire. “We’re low on firewood. Maybe you could take a few minutes and find some more.”

Heaving a sigh of annoyance, Jake walked to the hearth and removed the kettle from the fire. In the kitchen area, he dumped it over the melting snow. Steam rose into the chill air. He looked at Abby through the cloud.

“I’m going to check on the stock,” he growled. “You’ve got five minutes.” He looked at his watch. “Make it quick,” he said, and walked out, slamming the door in his wake.

Abby stripped in two seconds flat, draping the jumpsuit over the table. She dipped the rag into the water and brought it to her face. The warmth felt wonderful against her skin after being out in the cold all day. She soaped up the rag and scrubbed her face and hands. She closed her eyes and the water sluiced over her, rejuvenating her, making her feel clean and warm and almost human again. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed—she didn’t have a watch—but after a short while, she used the threadbare towel Jake had given her and quickly dried herself. She hated to put the prison-issue jumpsuit back on, but knew she didn’t have a choice. She’d stepped into the jumpsuit and had it pulled up to her waist when the door swung open.

The sight of her bare back stopped Jake cold, like a ship that had run headlong into an iceberg. He felt the impact echo through his body, a paralyzing shock that went from his head all the way down to his very cold toes.

Only he definitely wasn’t cold anymore.

The woman had one hell of a nice back.

Water glistened on silky flesh that was golden in the flickering light of the fire. Her shoulders were slender and fragile. Her narrow rib cage tapered to a waist so small he could almost span it with his hands….

He felt as if he’d been hit right between the eyes with a two-by-four. For a full thirty seconds he stood perfectly still, knocked senseless, knowing he should be doing anything but admiring that pretty back. But for the life of him he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away.