Breaking the Rules (3 page)

“What do you want?” she asked flatly.

For a long moment, he said nothing at all. Then he stood up and took off the glasses. He sighed and looked at her regretfully. “I want to figure out where I know you from.”

She’d been half expecting some sexy parry. Terror licked her lungs, as cold as dry ice, as cold as his hard face and direct eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Mmm.” He inclined his head and his hip jutted out to one side as he hooked a thumb in the belt loop of his jeans. “Then maybe you could tell me what it is you’re running from.”

How did he know?

It was too much. Mattie felt her arms go weak with rubbery fear. She felt her hold loosening on the bag she held, but helplessly watched as it slipped from her grip and fell to the ground.

The brown paper bag exploded on impact, scattering her supplies over the grass at her feet. She didn’t move immediately to pick them up; didn’t think her arms would follow the command.

Zeke just stood there, looking at her impassively, a lock of his wild long hair lifting on a finger of wind. “You dropped somethin’.”

She glanced down. Celery and apples and nuts nestled in the grass. A bottle of soda water came to rest against a bright blue box of tampons. Naturally. If you had to drop your groceries in front of some strange man, there was bound to be either tampons or PMS medicine in the mix. Murphy’s Law.

Nothing had to be gathered instantly. Mattie planted her hands on her hips. “I want you to leave. Now.”

“You know, Miss Mary, you can let me figure it out on my own, or you can tell me yourself.”

“Go away,” she said, shoving her bangs from her face.

He shifted. For a minute, Mattie thought he was going to listen to her. That he was going to swing those long legs over the saddle of his bike and ride away.

He crossed the small space between them and knelt in the grass. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help. I want you to leave.”

“I know,” he said amiably, gathering loose apples into his long-fingered hands. “But I’m not going to just yet, so you may as well let me help you.”

Mattie stared at the crown of his head, looking at the fall of his hair over his shoulders. The main color was a glossy shade of pecan, but the sun had coaxed lighter strands through it, and it had the kind of texture that half curled, half waved, giving it a look of disarray. She touched her bare neck, remembering the feel of hair sweeping over her neck with an acute sense of loss.

At her feet, Zeke grabbed the box of tampons. “You’ll have to get the rest,” he said, and headed for the front door.

Hastily, she gathered the few items remaining. “Just drop it all on the porch,” she said. “I’ll take everything in.”

“That’s all right,” he said with a lazy smile. “I don’t mind.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That sexy Southern boy routine isn’t gonna work with me,” she said.

“No?” His grin—that devilish, knowing grin—said he thought otherwise.

“Put my things down and get out of here.” The bantering, lazy attitude disappeared instantly, as if it were a clear invisible shell he donned and dropped at will. Now the other man came through. Hard eyes that saw too much, a certain dangerous aura she couldn’t pinpoint exactly, but was as visible as his long hair. Through the thin white cotton of his shirt, she saw one shoulder bore a dark mark—a tattoo of some kind.

He scared the hell out of her, but she’d been through a lot. A lot worse than some dangerous, sexy stranger standing on her porch holding spilled groceries.

“Tell me your name, Mary Smith.”

“I never said it was Smith.”

“Yeah, I know. Mary, you said, from here and there. Mary Smith from Peoria works pretty well, don’t you think?” Again he lifted those ironic, suspicious eyebrows. “As well as anything else.”

How did he know? she asked herself again. No one else had guessed she was lying. To cover the trembling in her arms, she marched toward him, key in hand. She had to pass him to get to the door and he didn’t move much out of her way. It was an obnoxious maneuver. She elbowed him sideways, trying to keep the ripple of awareness from overtaking her senses.

But damn, she thought as she fumbled with the stupid key, in addition to that aura of sex appeal he wore like exotic cologne, he was a
giant
. Her head didn’t even reach his shoulder. There was something exciting about a man so large—something primitive and reassuring that probably went back to caveman days. A big man like this might have a chance of defending a woman.

On the other hand, he might very easily be henchman material, hired to seek out that very same witness. The thought sent fingers of icy fear over her spine.

The key slipped home. Mattie opened the door and dumped her armful of groceries on a small table, then went to take Zeke’s load from him. He stood on her porch, as if sensing she didn’t want him to cross the threshold.

She plucked the groceries from his brawny arms and he stood there, cloaked in an amused calm, allowing her to take them, his gaze following her movements with a concentrated attention Mattie felt as a caress on her body. She felt him notice her legs, her hips, her breasts. It was not entirely unpleasant.

The last item he held was an apple. He held it up. “You know about apples, don’t you?” he said lazily, and bit into it with his strong white teeth. The flesh made a sharp cracking noise and a little of the juice moistened his lower lip.

A jolt of pure desire blazed through Mattie’s chest. Who would have dreamed an apple could be such a sexy thing?

He watched her, his gaze glimmering with something hot and promising. Mattie, halted a few inches from him, was struck deeply by two things.

The first was his scent. Not cologne or soap or anything artificial, it was deep and elemental, like moist earth steaming in the sun of a summer noon. And with the scent came a sense of heat, as if he were fevered.

The combination was so alluring, Mattie forgot to be careful, forgot she had to be on guard against everyone. She found herself, once again, simply staring at him, snared by the hard planes and generous mouth and unusual pale green eyes. The elusive shimmer made the color seem to flicker oddly, and Mattie felt another bolt of bone-deep yearning.

“Who are you?” she breathed.

He leaned in close. His gaze touched her mouth, lingered there. “Every man your mama ever warned you about,” he said softly, the drawl slipping through her flesh like an incantation.

That brought her around. What an arrogant pig! “I don’t have a mother, and I think you watch too many bad movies if you have to resort to lines like that.”

One arched dark eyebrow lifted. “Yeah?” Bracing himself on the threshold with one hand, the apple in the other, Zeke swayed toward Mattie until that rich, sensual mouth hung suspended just millimeters from her own. His breath whispered over her lips as he spoke. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and it’ll be more than secrets that I get from that pretty mouth of yours.”

She just looked at him, amazed and stunned that, after so many years, she could feel the kind of arousal she felt now, over a man she’d never seen twelve hours before.

He went still. Very, very still. With one finger, he lightly stroked her bottom lip. Stunned by the narcotic effect he had on her, Mattie allowed the slow deliberate touch.

Abruptly, he pulled away. His lips turned up in something very close to a sneer. “I’m not playing this game, Miss Mary.”

Stung, she hastily backed away. “It wasn’t me touching you.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” He tossed the apple aside, into the trees, and headed for the motorcycle. She watched as he mounted, pulled the enormous machine upright from the kickstand and took the mirrored sunglasses from his shirt pocket. With a flick of his wrist, he started the engine.

Looking at her, he took a rubber band from around his wrist and tugged his hair into a ponytail, then roared out, wind blowing his shirt against his chest. She watched until the trees swallowed him and the little dirt clearing was silent again.

Moving as if in a dream, Mattie went inside, shut the door and leaned against it. So this was lust, she thought, touching her middle. Good Lord.

She would have let him kiss her. Without an instant of regret or hesitation. When he pulled away, her most acute emotion had been disappointment.

But that was foolish. Very foolish. She didn’t have the luxury to indulge some lusty awakening on the part of her body, especially when she had no idea who he was or why he was so interested in her secrets.

A little noise against the window made her whirl, terrified. She stared wildly at the multi-paned square, seeking the source of the sound.

She sagged when she saw it was a twig from the pine tree outside the window.

“Mattie,” she said aloud, speaking to herself from long habit, “you are an idiot.” She began to put away the groceries, slamming them unnecessarily.

Willfully, she called up the night that had sent her running to this invisible little town—called up details she fought to keep tamped down. The memories would give her nightmares, but maybe she needed to be scared a little.

She called up the memory of an after-hours warehouse, the sound of gunfire, and blood. So much blood. She had slipped in it, trying to get away—

Familiar nausea filled her throat with bile. That was enough.

Hiding herself, living a lie, were things Mattie had never attempted. Maybe she was just getting careless and comfortable. If a complete stranger knew she was lying about her name, it was time to get moving. Find some other little town to hide in.

* * *

It was Zeke’s habit to rise early, one born in childhood when he’d awakened to help his mother weed the garden, knowing it would be the only time he could have her to himself in a day.

So even now, when his work was in the evenings and sometimes ran very late, he found himself wide awake as dawn broke the night sky. Over the past months, he’d developed a habit of going to the canyon, knowing that if he got there early enough, as with his mother, he’d have it to himself.

Of all the flyspecks on the map he’d blown through the past eighteen months, Kismet would be the hardest for him to leave behind, a thought that bothered him this morning—just a little. He had a rule about getting attached to things. When you got attached, you got in trouble. People, animals, places—he didn’t let himself get too comfortable with any of them. Probably time to move on.

But this morning, he was here, and that was good. He stripped at the edge of the river, taking deep pleasure in the brush of cool morning air against his skin. Overhead, a tangle of larks and sparrows sang to the light, as if it were a unique event. He smiled at them, standing on the bank for a moment to brace himself. Taking a deep breath, he touched his stomach in preparation, and with a whoop, jumped into a deep pool.

The water was a biting, icy shock—exhilarating as it stabbed through his hair and needled his flesh. He touched bottom and pushed himself back up, then lazily paddled in the broad pool, admiring the colors around him.

Back in Mississippi, rivers were wide and muddy and slow, as if the heat sucked their energy from them. Their banks were covered with cattails and grass. This river was crystal clear and mountain-cold and ran fast through the canyon it had carved from red sandstone. There was no mud to speak of, because the streambed was the rock itself.

The beauty of it was that the water had played capricious games with the soft rock, creating slides and carving pools and ignoring little flats, with no rhyme or reason. Later in the day, it would be crowded with tourists, come from the campgrounds nearby to enjoy the miracle.

He kicked out and submerged himself again, now used to the invigorating cold. He looked at the sky, vividly blue above the red of the rocks, and wondered that such color could exist.

It was only then that he became aware of a prickling uneasiness. With a flush of embarrassment, he wondered if some campers had wandered over. He’d been coming here since summer started and had never been discovered. After a few weeks, he’d shed his cutoffs in favor of skinny-dipping just because it seemed natural to do so in such a place. Keeping himself covered to the shoulders, he spun around slowly, peering into the trees at one side of the water. Nothing moved but a squirrel, who chattered in some irritation at Zeke’s gall invading the quiet so early. He grinned to himself, relieved, and splashed backward to lean on a rock in the warming sunlight.

It was only then he caught sight of her, standing at the foot of a path that probably led straight back to her little cabin.

Mary. He wiped water from his face and straightened. “Well, well, well,” he said. “I’m just runnin’ into you all over the place.”

She carried a small paper bag and a thermos. “I come here every morning to eat my breakfast,” she said, and pointed to a small outcropping of rocks on the other side of the stream. A natural staircase led to the perch. “I won’t bother you.”

“Maybe I’ll bother you.”

“I doubt it.” He saw that it took some effort, but she resolutely headed toward the perch, leaving her sandals at the edge of the stream to splash through the shallows to the stairs. When she reached the top, she settled herself primly with her bag in her lap. “You mind your business and I’ll mind mine.”

Zeke half smiled. She probably had no idea he’d left his clothes in a pile at the edge of the water, or she wouldn’t be quite so calm. The pool he stood in was deep enough to cloak his nakedness, but if he moved at all, the clear water wouldn’t hide much. “Nice sentiment,” he said, “but we’ve got a little problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, Miss Mary, all my clothes are over there on the bank.”

A flash of something crossed her face—satisfaction? She raised her eyebrows. “I guess you’ll have to wait until I’m finished with my breakfast to finish your swim, then, won’t you?”

Zeke licked his bottom lip. It had been a mistake to underestimate this woman. She might look young and naïve, but there was something hard as barbed wire running beneath it all. If he hadn’t been so rattled by that mouth yesterday, he would have realized it, too.