Читать книгу Mistletoe & Mayhem: Mistletoe & Mayhem / Santa's Sexy Secret - Lori Wilde, Cara Summers - Страница 12

JODIE OPENED her eyes and sat straight up in bed. She must have dozed off. The illuminated face of the clock on her nightstand told her that it was 1:50 a.m. That meant she’d slept for twenty minutes.

What had awakened her? For a moment, she sat perfectly still and listened.

Silence, except for the scrape of a branch against her window. Out on the highway, the sound of a car grew steadily louder, then faded. A board creaked.

Every muscle in her body tightened. Where had the sound come from? Not overhead. Was someone climbing the stairs? Fear tightened her throat as seconds ticked by on her bedside clock. Finally reminding herself to breathe, she inched her way back against the headboard. She was overreacting. Old houses were always creaking. Or maybe it was a case of wishful thinking.

Jodie glanced up at the ceiling. More than anything, she wanted to catch Billy Rutherford in her snare trap. In her mind, she pictured him taking one step and another and another—then the rope whipping around his feet, jerking them out from under him and up until he was swinging back and forth—

Another board creaked. This time it was louder and she was sure it came from overhead. Excitement mixed with panic as she wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and watched her clock. The second hand swept the face slowly. One minute…a minute and a half…two minutes.

She glanced up at the ceiling. Surely the trap would make some noise when it was triggered. Or Billy would certainly make some sound as the rope ripped his feet out from under him—a gasp, a shout, a curse?

Wouldn’t there be some sound as he swung back and forth?

As if on cue, she heard a creak. Then silence. The second hand on her clock made another sweep.

Suddenly, she recalled Irene’s comment. I hope no one ends up hanging by their necks.

Jodie felt her heart jump to her throat and stick. What if she’d killed somebody? Billy?

She had to know. Slipping off the side of the bed, she raced to the door. Another creak overhead stopped her dead in her tracks, and a completely different scenario filled her mind: Billy edging his way across the attic as close to the eaves as he could get. He would only trigger the trap if he actually walked directly across the attic floor.

Whirling, Jodie hurried to the fireplace and carefully lifted the poker from its stand. Then she frowned. What in the world was she going to do with it? She wasn’t going to hit Billy Rutherford any more than she would have shot him if Hank Jefferson had sold her that gun. He might bleed. Even as she shuddered, the floor creaked again.

Straightening her shoulders, Jodie tightened her grip on the poker and whipped it in a wide circle. The great thing about a poker was that you could actually poke people with it—or at least threaten to. In her mind, she pictured Captain Hook. She would just make Billy walk across the floor to the spot where the rope would snap him up.

For a moment, Jodie stood still, visualizing her plan. Then shouldering the poker like a rifle, she walked to the door. Someone was up in the attic, and she was going to get him.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, the silence seemed to deepen. She waited for a moment, listening hard. The sound of a passing car couldn’t penetrate this far into the house.

Overhead, there was silence too. Holding her breath, she edged her way down the hallway. When she reached the door to the attic stairs, it stood wide open. Once more, her heart jumped to her throat, fluttering there like a bird. She clearly remembered closing the door before she’d gone to bed. Could Billy have climbed in through the window and avoided her trap, then snuck down the stairs? Slowly, she turned. Was he even now lurking somewhere in the shadows?

This time the creak sounded like a shot. Letting out the breath she was holding, she whirled back to the stairs. He was still in the attic. Keeping to the very edge of the steps, she climbed them one by one.

The darkness only lessened a little as she approached the top. The moonlight that managed to push its way through the grime on the windows made little headway into the gloom. Pausing on the top step, she counted to ten as she listened.

Nothing. She stepped carefully onto the attic floor, and suddenly a hand clamped over her mouth, and an arm banded around her waist, immobilizing her.

As panic streamed through her, she ordered herself to think. Billy? She had to let him know it was her. But the moment she tried to move, she felt herself gripped even more tightly against a hard, male body. Mixed with the fear was a sudden awareness of how strong those arms were, how callused those fingers. Not Billy’s soft hands, she thought. And not Billy’s scent. Suddenly the memory of what had happened earlier at the lake flooded through her. She recalled Shane’s hand resting along the side of her face, Shane’s mouth pressed lightly but firmly against hers until she couldn’t think of anything, anyone but…It was Shane!

“The window.” The words were barely a breath in her ear.

Narrowing her eyes, she peered through the gloom. Something seemed to be blocking what little light she’d noticed before. Wood scraped against wood as the window slid upward, and she could just make out a silhouette as it climbed into the room.

“Stay.”

Shane released her so quickly she nearly dropped the poker. Because the shadow at the window was the only one she could make out, Jodie kept her eyes on it. A board moaned under the eaves. The shadow froze. Holding her breath, she counted to ten while the silence stretched. The moment the next board creaked, the shadow whirled toward it and suddenly there were two silhouettes locked together. The silence shattered as they pitched to the floor.

There was the sickening sound of a fist pounding into flesh and a series of grunts as the two figures rolled. A chair toppled and something rattled across the floor. Then the two figures rose again, blocking the light. She had to do something to help. Keeping as close to the eaves as she could, she edged her way toward the window. Glass shattered as they toppled a lamp. Poker raised, Jodie moved closer.

She dodged to the right when they rolled toward her. First one was on top, then the other. Which one was the intruder? Even as she hesitated, they rolled again, this time in the direction of the circle of rope.

The snare trap. Should she call a warning? Before she could open her mouth, a figure rose and staggered toward the window.

It had to be Billy. Shane wouldn’t be trying to get away. In the time it took her to decide, the man had swung both legs over the sill and was gone. Jodie raced toward him.

Suddenly, there was a zinging sound, as if the string on a guitar had snapped. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other man suddenly pitch to the floor.

“What the—” Shane ended the thought in a grunt as he shot feetfirst toward the ceiling.

It occurred to her that it was just as she’d visualized it, then she threw herself at the other man who was halfway out the window.

“Stop.” She grabbed at his arm as he reached for a tree limb. A shove sent her reeling into the eaves. As she scrambled to her feet, she saw Shane begin to swing forward, but the man was out of his reach when the rope pulled him back. She made it to the window in time to grab a foot. A mistake, she thought as it kicked her to the floor.

The rafters creaked ominously as she once more lunged toward the window. Leaning out, she saw the man, climbing along the limb of the maple tree. She threw one leg over the sill and leaned forward, reaching. A few more inches and…teetering, she stretched more and grabbed air just as a pair of hands clamped around her waist and jerked her back into the attic.

“Let me go. I can—”

“What? Break your neck?”

“I won’t.” She twisted one way, then another, but the hands gripping her were like a steel vise.

“You damn near toppled out that window.”

“I almost had him. I can still…” Desperate, she tried to pry Shane’s fingers loose. He relaxed his hold just enough to turn her around so she faced him. Jodie found that, even though he was hanging upside down, she was looking almost directly into his eyes. “Will you please let me go? He’s getting away.”

“Thanks to you. I’d have had him in handcuffs right now if you hadn’t interrupted.”

“I didn’t interrupt. You interfered. If you hadn’t, he’d have been swinging from his feet now instead of you.”

“Let’s postpone the debate until you get me down from this thing.”

She tried backing away. His grip on her tightened. “I’ll come back just as soon—”

“Forget it. Until you cut me loose, we’re Siamese twins.”

They might as well have been. They were so close, Jodie could feel his breath on her cheek and see the glint of anger in his eyes. But it wasn’t fear that arrowed down her spine as her gaze moved to his mouth. All she could do was think—if he kissed her now, his lips wouldn’t be soft and gentle as they had been down at the lake. And they wouldn’t be patient. They would be demanding, hot and potent.

She felt his hands grow tighter, felt her own desire curl tight within her. But she wasn’t going to kiss Shane Sullivan again. She couldn’t. It wasn’t possible to kiss a man while he was hanging upside down. Was it?

Perhaps, if he angled his head just right, and she angled hers…

Light flooded the attic. Footsteps thundered up the stairs.

“Jodie, are you all right?” Sophie led the way. Both she and Irene held their pokers at the ready as they crested the top of the attic steps.

“Good girl. Caught our prowler, I see,” Sophie said, but she stopped short when she caught a glimpse of Shane. “You’re not our prowler.” She glanced at Jodie. “Let’s get him down. Did Clyde show you how to unspring this thing or should I go back downstairs and get a knife?”

“There’s a lever,” Jodie said and decided to ignore the fact that Shane didn’t release her as she walked toward it. The distrust between them was obviously mutual, and that suited her just fine.

“Brace yourself,” she said as she threw the release lever. His grunt as he landed on the floor gave her some satisfaction. But the grin he shot her as the two ladies rushed to fuss over him cut it short. Sophie held one of his arms, Irene the other, as Shane rose to his feet.

“Are you all right?” Irene asked. “I knew that thingamajig wasn’t going to work right.”

“It worked fine,” Jodie said. “If Shane hadn’t interfered, I’d have caught our prowler.”

“There was a prowler then,” Sophie said. “I knew I saw someone climbing down that old maple tree in the backyard.”

“That’s how he got in, too,” Shane said. “When I saw him start up, I used the key you ladies gave me. I thought I’d have a better chance of getting him if I came up here.”

“Good thinking,” Sophie said.

“Except that it cost us our prowler,” Jodie pointed out.

Shane shrugged. “I would have had him if you hadn’t interrupted.”

Jodie strode forward until they were standing toe-to-toe. “I didn’t interrupt. You interfered.”

“Instead of arguing, the two of you ought to team up. That way you won’t get in each other’s way,” Sophie said. “Right now, I think we’d better go downstairs and inform Sheriff Dillon we’ve had another break-in.”

“And I’ll make some of my famous hot chocolate. It’s just the thing to calm everyone’s nerves,” Irene said, leading the way down the stairs.

“One taste and you’ll wish we left you hanging,” Jodie predicted in a low tone as she slipped past Shane and caught up with the two older women.

SHANE LEANED BACK in his chair and let the conversation hum around him. Across the length of the kitchen table, Dillon was jotting down information in his notebook. But no matter how cleverly or persistently the sheriff asked the question, no one was willing to say that the prowler in the attic had definitely been Billy Rutherford.

When it came right down to it, Shane wasn’t certain himself. Thanks to the darkness and the fact that he’d been occupied dodging fists, he hadn’t gotten a good look at the man’s face.

Shane shifted his gaze to Jodie. Had she gotten a better look? She said not, and she could be telling the truth. In his mind, he could still picture her stretching out that window, still feel the fear that had twisted in his gut when he’d grabbed her and found that she was already more than halfway out, teetering. If he’d been a second later…Quickly, he pushed the image out of his mind and reminded himself that she’d had the full benefit of the moonlight while she was at the window. He studied her in the harsh, overhead glow of the kitchen light. Could anyone look that innocent and still be a liar? Part of him wanted to say yes. But there was another part of him…His gaze dropped to her mouth. It was soft, unpainted. She was sitting three feet away from him and he could almost taste her. Desire crept through him, leaving a dull ache in its wake.

He wanted her, and it was interfering with his judgment. The only thing he should be thinking about was whether or not Jodie had gotten a good look at the intruder. And if she had, was she lying to protect Billy Rutherford?

Deliberately, Shane shifted his gaze to Dillon. His best guess was that the sheriff wasn’t sure about that, either. Otherwise the man would have beat a hasty retreat the moment he’d sampled Irene’s special hot chocolate.

It was “special” all right. Her secret recipe had all the flavor of warmed-up mud. Lazarus had taken one sniff of the sample she’d poured into his dish and all but loped out of the room. Shane glanced down at his own full mug. In a minute he’d have to take another drink. His excuse that it was too hot was wearing thin. There wasn’t a plant in sight, and there was no way to tip it up his sleeve since he was wearing a sweater.

When his gaze collided with Jodie’s, he saw the amusement as well as the challenge. She raised her mug in a mock salute.

He reached for his, gripping the handle carefully as he lifted it. Then suddenly, he winced and the mug slipped through his fingers, spilling its contents as it rolled to the edge of the table and dropped to the floor. In the time it took him to grip his shoulder with his free hand, he read the expressions of everyone in the room. Jodie’s was a mixture of admiration and envy, Dillon’s was one of surprise, but the ladies’ eyes were filled with worry and concern. He rubbed his shoulder, wincing again. “Sorry. I must have landed harder than I thought.”

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Irene said as she hurried over with a cloth.

“I’ll get you another in just a moment.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll just help Jodie finish hers.”

Dillon’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you want a lift to the emergency room?”

Keeping his expression pained, Shane shook his head. “My shoulder seemed fine before. It must be stiffening up.”

“Got just the thing,” Sophie said, rising and moving toward the pantry.

“I’d better file this report,” Dillon said, nodding to Irene and Jodie. “I’ll send a patrol car by every hour or so. And if any of you hear from Billy, I want you to call me.”

“It wasn’t Billy,” Irene said as she escorted Dillon out of the room. “Even as a little boy, he didn’t like to climb trees.”

“I’ve got something that will take care of that shoulder,” Sophie said as she reentered from the pantry. “It works wonders for sore muscles and joints. Take off your sweater.” Then turning to Jodie, she said, “You’re going to give the lad a massage.”

“Me?” Jodie asked. “I can’t. I don’t know anything about—”

Sophie snorted. “It isn’t brain surgery we’re talking about. It’s a massage, and I can’t do it because of the arthritis in my hands. C’mon, I’ll talk you through it.”

Jodie turned to Shane, and discovered there’d be no help from him. He just sat there, grinning from ear to ear. But the challenge in his eyes had her stepping up beside Sophie.

“There,” Sophie said as she poured a dollop of oil into Jodie’s palms. “Now, rub them together. There, that’s good. Now, place your hands on his shoulders.”

Jodie moved around behind Shane’s chair. It was just a massage, she told herself. It wasn’t…well, it wasn’t a whole lot of other things. It wasn’t as though she were kissing him again. Or feeling his body pressed close. As the warmth started to spread through her, she quickly pushed the other things she’d been thinking about doing with Shane Sullivan out of her mind. She could do this. People gave massages to other people all of the time. For some people, it was a job.

“Now, press down,” Sophie said. “And release. That’s right. Press and release. I told you, you could do it. It’s as simple as breathing.”

Right, Jodie thought. Except that it wasn’t so easy to breathe anymore. The air around her seemed to have thickened slightly. Think of something else, she told herself. Think of the grin on his face. She drew in a deep breath and let it out.

“Now, move your hands closer to his neck,” Sophie said.

She did as she was told and tried to block the sensations that had begun to move through her. Closing her mind to everything else, she focused on moving her hands over Shane in the rhythm Sophie was dictating. She’d never before realized how sensitive her fingers were. Incredible. They were absorbing everything—the prickly hairs on the back of his neck, the pulse beating at his throat.

“Press, release. Press, release.”

Sophie’s voice came from a distance, but it didn’t matter because her hands seemed to have developed a will of their own. They were moving in a circular motion back to his shoulders, pressing and releasing, pressing and releasing. The feel of his skin beneath her hands was mesmerizing. The air seemed to be filled with the sound of her own breathing, her own heartbeat quickening. Beneath the musky scent of the oil, she could smell something much more intriguing, something dark and male.

Her palms recorded each separate sensation—the smooth, slick warmth of his skin, the taut muscles beneath that gave when she pressed. A feeling of power moved through her, and suddenly there were other places she wanted to touch. She stroked her hands down his spine, then moved them slowly up again. There was such heat here. It moved from his skin to hers and then spread until it burned deep in her center. She wanted to do more than touch him. She wanted to lean forward and press her mouth to the back of his neck. To taste him. To have him turn and…

His skin was only inches away from her lips when she paused. What was she thinking? Drawing back a little, she tore her eyes off Shane and glanced around the kitchen. It was empty. How long had she—

“Don’t stop.”

It took her a second to realize that he’d spoken, that it wasn’t just the voice in her head.

“I can’t. We can’t.” Before she could lift her hands from him, he snagged her wrist and turned to face her. The moment she looked into his eyes, they trapped her as swiftly, as surely, as his hand had. In them she could see exactly what she was feeling, and all she would have to do was lean forward. It wouldn’t take much effort, because she felt as if she were caught by some kind of magnetic force that was pulling her slowly and inexorably toward him. And in another moment, everything she’d been imagining since the first time she met him would become reality.

Since the first time she met him… It was that thought that gave her the strength to pull herself free. She didn’t know Shane Sullivan, not well enough to…She took three quick steps backward before she smacked into the refrigerator door.

“You—you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to fix myself a drink, something to get rid of the taste of that hot chocolate.” If she could just keep talking…No, talking was not going to do it. She had to stop looking at him or the magnetic pull was going to get hold of her again. Turning, she found herself face-to-face with the latest motto of the day: Follow Your Passion.

Your passion is catching Billy, she reminded herself as she pulled the refrigerator open, not making love to Shane Sullivan on the kitchen table. She saw nothing but the bottle of milk that Irene had used to make the hot chocolate. Just the memory of it had her shutting the door and reaching for the overhead cupboard. “I think Sophie…yes, here it is, Sophie’s cure for a head cold—a twenty-year-old, single-malt Scotch.” Without glancing at Shane, she hurried on. “Care to join me?”

“Why not?”

“According to Sophie, it’s good for what ails you,” she said as she quickly filled two glasses, picked them up and turned. For a moment, just looking at him was enough to have her nerves knotting again. He was still naked from the waist up. He was still beautiful. And she wanted him even more than she had before.

She needed a drink. Holding the two glasses of Scotch in front of her like a shield, she moved forward. “What shall we drink to?” she asked as she set a tumbler in front of him.

“A pleasant day for the funeral,” Shane said.

Jodie blinked. “What?”

“Even twenty-year-old Scotch can be lethal if you’re going to knock down eight ounces.”

Jodie stared at the glass she’d filled to the brim as Shane took it from her and carried it along with his own to the counter. After carefully tipping most of the liquid back into the bottle, he gave her back her glass and lifted his own. “Why don’t we drink to the fantasy I was having a few moments ago?”

Jodie took a quick sip of her Scotch. Steadied by the heat that burned the back of her throat, she said, “It’s going to remain a fantasy.”

“I don’t think so.”

What she saw in Shane’s eyes made her throat go dry as dust again. It wasn’t the easy humor she was coming to expect. No, it was more like a threat—or a promise. She took another sip of scotch. “We can’t…We don’t even know each other.”

His smile bloomed slowly. “It’s not necessary to know someone all that well to—”

Jodie raised a hand to stop him. “It’s necessary for me.”

His grin widened. “Okay, ask me anything you want to know.”

There was a part of her that knew it was a trap. But another part of her just couldn’t resist. There was more to Shane Sullivan than he was letting on. “You’ll tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“So help me, ma’am.” He turned his chair around and straddled it. “Shoot.”

For the first time in her life, Jodie thought she might have. If only she’d had a gun handy. Not the kind that Hank Jefferson had refused to sell her. Not a real gun. But if she’d had a water pistol handy, she would have taken aim and unloaded it just to wipe the self-confident grin off his face.

Setting her glass on the table, she sat down and said, “You’re not really some distant cousin of Katie Dillon’s, are you?”

Shane shrugged. “Well, in the sense that all of us are kin, I must be related in some way.”

“Bull. You want to know what I think? I think you’re a bounty hunter who’s come here to track Billy Rutherford down.”

For a moment, Shane didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. Dillon was right. She was smart. The admiration he felt for her mixed with the annoyance he felt for himself. He’d been careless. And the reason for it was sitting right across the table from him. Instead of keeping his mind on getting his man, he’d been entertaining thoughts of…Ruthlessly, he pushed his fantasies aside.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Jodie asked.

“What tipped you off?”

“In the attic, you mentioned handcuffs. I don’t think they’re standard equipment for burnt-out corporate executives.”

He recalled exactly when the words had slipped out, but he’d been hoping she wouldn’t notice. He rarely let his cover slip, but he supposed swinging from the rafters by his feet was some excuse.

“Why are you a bounty hunter?” Jodie asked.

“The usual reasons, I suppose. It pays well and I’m good at it. Why are you a librarian?”

“Inertia. I loved college, and applying for the job at the library allowed me to stay right on campus.” She met his eyes squarely. “That makes me like my mother. Afraid to try anything new.”

“You must enjoy it,” Shane said.

She shrugged. “Parts of it. I love books and I love to research things and discover the answers, the secrets.”

“It sounds a lot like bounty hunting.”

“Except that I spend most of my time in front of a computer screen, and lately…” Suddenly her eyes narrowed. “Hey, I’m supposed to be asking the questions, not answering them.”

“I’ve got a proposition for you. Why don’t we team up and track down Billy Rutherford together?” The surprised look on her face summed up his own feelings exactly. Where in the world had that question come from? He always worked alone.

“No.”

That one word should have flooded him with relief, not disappointment. And certainly not annoyance “Why not? Think about it. It makes perfect sense. Especially if we don’t want to stage another Keystone Cops scene like the one we played out in the attic.”

“I can’t,” Jodie said. “I want to catch Billy to prove something—that I’m not like my mother. How am I going to do that if I team up with a big-time bounty hunter?”

“I can see to it that you get all the credit.”

“But if you’re the one who really catches Billy, I’d know it. And if I’m going to change how everyone thinks of me, I think I have to convince myself first. So my answer is no.”

Shane watched in silence as she rose and turned away. He let her get to the door before he said, “One more thing…”

She turned.

“Something very important you ought to know about me—I never take no for an answer. I’m going to persuade you to change your mind.”