Читать книгу Warrior For One Night - Nancy Gideon - Страница 8

“Is this better?”

She stood in the hall outside his room, her arrogant pose daring him to make some comment about the way she was dressed. Impossible. His tongue had adhered to the roof of his mouth.

She’d decided to blend both professional and the oldest profession into a look that was in-your-face tough and tempting. Her frizz of red hair was in a ponytail back beneath a ball cap to accentuate the no-nonsense angles of her face warmed by only a trace of makeup. A conservative black jacket that would have been right at home in a realty seminar framed the body that her flight suit had only hinted at. The tiny shirt she wore beneath it with its cutesy cartoon character motif and preteen proportions left acres of Mel Parrish bare. The long tanned line of her throat led his gaze downward to plunge dangerously into a careless offer of cleavage. Then that teensy scrap of snug knit defining the hills and valleys of her breasts the way a man’s hands might above an expanse of taut, toned middle. The sassy wink of jewel-pierced belly button snagged his attention long enough for him to catch a shallow breath before being confronted with the low scoop of her jeans just barely hanging on her hipbones. The negligent crisscross of a studded belt was slung atop denim-skinned legs. In his fantasy, she would be wearing stiletto heels instead of clunky work boots, but those almost absurd contrasts worked upon his no-longer-monkish libido. Kyle’s assessment of “hot” didn’t even come close to the scorch of her boldly flaunted sexuality. And what made the whole package beyond hot was the challenging bristle of look-don’t touch she exuded.

He had to remind himself to exhale.

“Fine.” His rough growl rumbled across the agitation he refused to betray. Mel Parrish would never know how much his palms itched to skim around the warm curve of her waist, to pull her up tight against contours not quite so thrilled with his self-denying celibacy. “I’m ready.”

An incredible understatement.

The elevator grew more crowded as they picked up passengers on each floor. Crushed up next to her, Xander found his stare discreetly dipping down into the shadowed crevice between his bodyguard’s breasts. And on the other side of her, the luggage handler was enjoying that same lush scenery with a bit less care. Mel’s elbow flashed back, jabbing the poor fellow just above the belt, making him suck a pain filled breath as she murmured a mild “Excuse me.” Xander’s gaze jumped front and center, missing the way hers cut to him suspiciously. Then her lids lowered slightly as she indulged in an appreciative sweep of her own.

Some men were made to wear expensive suits. Xander Caufield had the strong, tailored physique and coldly superior attitude to carry off the elitist look to perfection. But in that brief second, when she caught him staring unashamedly down her neckline, there was nothing remotely civilized about him. That dangerous edge of desire making a raw slash across his reserve had her shivering in response. And she thought once again about taking that bounce on the taut bedcovers beneath him.

What grew taut between them during the long day was the silence. After the contents of his case had been delivered to the exhibit floor during the chaos of booth setups, they headed to California for another pickup. They didn’t speak. Xander took his seat in back and left the flying to Mel, apparently content to place himself in her hands. A delightful notion that kept her busy for most of the flight imagining just how one might go about peeling off his prickly protective layers to get to the good stuff inside. His posture never relaxed, not once on the trip there or back, and that made her nervous, wondering if there really was some sort of danger involved in what he was doing. She was very aware of the pistol pressing against the small of her back, and though well versed in its use, she wasn’t eager to pull it in the heat of confrontation.

Stepping from the sear of late-afternoon heat into the near brain-freeze chill of hotel air-conditioning, Mel was thinking about the lunch she didn’t have and whether or not it would be appropriate to ask her client if he wanted to join her at the hotel’s Mexican restaurant for some off-the-clock tequila and spicy food. Perhaps if they were forced to sit across from each other like civilized human beings, they would have to think up some polite conversation to fill the time. Something that didn’t have to do with her wardrobe or the crisp hotel bedspread. Not sure what other topics were up for grabs, she got into the elevator behind him and started mentally rehearsing. The car was going down one before heading up to the tenth floor. Xander had opted to take it rather than wait for the other elevators to return from the double digit floors. Just as the doors began to close, a trio of multiple-pierced punks slipped into the car with them with polite murmurs of “Excuse me,” and quietly waited behind them. Until the doors opened.

A series of subterranean tunnels ran beneath the hotel, offering shopping at touristy and exclusive shops. At four-thirty, when most guests were preoccupied by dinner alternatives, they offered a very quiet and unpopulated spot away from the rush of the upper floors. Away from everything, Mel realized a second too late when she saw two more toughs loitering just outside the doors. As she reached for the Close button, she sensed movement behind them.

Sudden, hard shoves propelled both of them out of the elevator car. One of the punks gripped Mel by the lapels of her jacket, swinging her around and dragging her quickly out of the open area into one of the empty side halls. Xander followed stiffly, urged by a glitter of steel nudged up under his chin.

“We want what’s in your pockets and in the case,” growled the Mohawk-wearing fellow holding Mel. Then his voice lowered and its softness was somehow more threatening. “And maybe if you cooperate, that’s all we’ll want.”

Cursing her carelessness, Mel assessed their situation. A security camera was aimed down the hallway, but its lens was spray painted over. There was no foot traffic. Obviously, their assailants had planned for this meeting a lot better than she had. They were pushed back against one of the walls. Cutting a quick glance at Xander, she was impressed by his stoic expression. As she prayed there would be no reckless heroics to get them killed, those hopes were dashed when he caught her look. His expression was fearless. Slowly, grimly, he smiled.

“I’m reaching for my wallet,” he told the trio surrounding him as he dipped in his trouser pocket. Their greedy attention focused on those fat leather folds and not him, tracking the wallet as it fell to the floor between them. As they went after it, he swung the case, catching the one with the knife in the temple, dropping him like a rock. A vicious upward arc took the next one in the face, pulping his nose and sending him reeling back with a howl of pained surprise.

Figuring it was time to follow her client’s lead, Mel grabbed for her gun. Mohawk read the move and intercepted it, twisting her wrist, wrenching it up behind her back. She didn’t waste time struggling. He was obviously stronger. Instead, she stomped down on his instep and applied her other elbow to his groin. Suddenly freed, she spilled onto the floor on hands and knees. Before she could gain any momentum on the slick tiles, large hands grabbed her about the waist, yanking her up. She kicked the man in front of her, taking him in the kneecap. As he crumpled, she drove back with her elbows, inflicting as much damage as she could. And that’s when her captor swung her around and the side of her head met with one of the support pillars.

Darkness swamped over her in a huge, sickening wave as she was hauled back up to her feet. She got a blurry glimpse of Xander dropping the case, his hands spreading wide in presumed surrender. His stare touched on the blood streaming down the side of her face, on the hands holding her, one by the throat and one groping roughly in search of her weapon. And she realized their attackers were wrong to think the danger was from her gun.

He moved so fast and purposefully they had no time to react. Gripping the knife-wielding hand, dodging its lethal thrust, he dropped his elbow down at the base of the man’s skull. A knee to the face as he was falling took him completely out of the picture. Even as Xander shoved away from the first man, he was intent upon the next, using combined strikes from the back of his fist and elbow followed by a hard upward drive with the heel of his other hand to dispatch thug number two.

Mel had never seen anything like him. She was familiar with bar brawls and self-defense but not this skilled form of controlled attack. He didn’t fight using a fisted punch but rather with fierce hard strikes, using every surface of his body with explosive aggressive force—knees, elbows, the flat of his forearms, even his head, to batter his assailants into submission. Without hesitation, without mercy. Until a roar from Mohawk checked him.

“Enough!”

The blade pressed to Mel’s throat effectively stilled Xander’s unexpected threat. He took a submissive stance, his hard glare riveted to the others as he issued a quiet promise.

“Cut her and I’ll end you.”

The deadly force behind that delivery gave Mohawk an instant of hesitation. Just enough for Mel to act in her own defense. She gripped his thumb, twisting it back until his fingers opened and the knife dropped. As she backed out of his slackened hold, she pulled her pistol free and jammed it into his kidney.

“Think about it!” Mel said.

He froze, apparently thinking hard.

“Run.”

He didn’t have to think twice about that one. He bolted and the rest of his group scrambled after him.

The pistol in her hand wavered wildly. The floor, walls and ceiling began a slow, determined roll. Mel was dimly aware of a firm grip divesting her of the gun, curling about her waist to ease her fall into blackness. After that, it was just dizzying snatches. The sight of an oxygen mask coming down from a backdrop of flashing lights. Of Xander’s immobile features filling her field of vision, a dark angel at her side. His small, tight smile of reassurance and the warm chafe of his hands over one of hers. And the gleam of metal from the courier case in his lap flaring bright as passing streetlights reflected off it. Then darkness, cool and complete.

They swarmed the E.R. like soldiers storming the battlements. Her family, her friends, pushing him out of the way. He shouldn’t have resented surrendering his seat at her bedside. And he wondered why he did.

He’d been sitting on the hard metal chair for the past four hours while emergency staff plugged her in and took her vitals. He acted as if he belonged there and after a while, they stopped questioning his right to be. He didn’t interfere with them, content to remain a silent sentinel, her hand within the curl of his fingers, his attention riveted to her pale features. All the alarm and fear that hadn’t surfaced while confronting the thugs in the hotel whispered through him now as he kept an anxious eye on the monitors and waited for her to wake up—this gutsy woman who would risk her life for him. The fact that she was well paid to do so never quite entered the equation.

They wheeled her out briefly to get a CT scan. While he sat alone behind the curtained walls, with sounds of weeping and suffering on either side of him, he noticed with an odd detachment the blood splashed on his shirtfront and hands. He stared at the dark patterns for a long moment before finally getting up to wash them off in the small sink. That’s when his hands started shaking, tremors spreading until they raced all the way to the soles of his no-longer spotless shoes. Delayed shock. A trickle-down of adrenaline. That’s all it was. His eyes squeezed tight. She could have died right then, right there, protecting his lie.

“Mel?”

Xander scooped a palmful of water and dashed it on his face. Using the sleeve of his ruined jacket to towel it dry, he turned to the anxious man staring at the empty bed in horror.

“She’s getting tests done.”

Relief dropped the older man to the chair Xander had vacated. He sat sucking air, his face pale as the lightweight cotton blanket folded at the end of the bed.

“I’m Xander Caufield.”

Dazed eyes lifted to register his presence. “Charley Parrish. Mel’s my niece. Is she all right? What happened?”

Before he could begin, there was a ruckus in the hall. Six men smelling of smoke and hard work pushed their way past the curtain, followed by a harried nurse. They all talked at once, addressing Charley Parrish as if he had the answers. No one paid Xander the least bit of attention.

Then Mel’s welcome voice intruded. “Hey, you guys mind keeping it down. There are sick people in here.”

They parted to allow room for the gurney carrying a pale but smiling Mel Parrish, then quickly closed ranks about her bed. Leaving Xander on the outside.

“They find anything in that empty head of yours?”

“What’s the other guy look like?”

“Like we don’t have enough to do without worrying about your sorry butt. Hey, Charley. How ya doing?”

“That was one helluva scare you gave us when we heard it on the scanner, One Night.”

“Give her room to breathe, fellas.”

Xander observed them, these big, gruff men all jockeying for the chance to clutch her hand within their dirty paws while she looked up at them with obvious affection. The scene acted strangely upon him. These were the ones who loved her and were loved in return. Hearing she was in trouble, they’d dropped everything to come running. Though they joked and grumbled about the inconvenience, the edge of worried concern was etched in each rugged face. That told him more about Mel Parrish than any amount of research he could have gathered.

“Hey, is this where the party is?”

“Sir, gentlemen, you can’t all go in there!”

“Hey, One Night. Whatcha doing on that bed all by yourself? Want some company?”

“Why? Do you have a good-looking friend?”

Laughter. Warm and rich with relief as more of the men shouldered their way into the small sterile space. Crowding Xander—with his bloodstained clothes and unfamiliar face—out. He lingered a moment longer, absorbing the sight of her surrounded by her fiercely protective posse of devoted comrades, her smile wide and reckless, her eyes shiny with emotion. Then he picked up his case and backed away unnoticed.

By all but one.