Exposed (17 page)

“I don’t know how to call him. I mean, I know how to use the phone. I just don’t know the number.” Damn, she sounded like a ninny. “I should know his number. He’s my only living blood relative. But who memorizes numbers anymore?”

“Here.” Frank pulled to the side of the road and handed her his phone. “I copied it down earlier.”

“Thanks.”

After she tapped the number into her new phone and handed his back, she added the phone number to her contact list, making Ian a profile. Frank’s hand settled on hers once more, keeping her from dialing Ian’s number.

“What?”

“If it goes to voice mail, don’t leave a message,” he said, his dark eyes intense even in the dim light from the street post. “If he’s dodging your phone calls, we don’t want him knowing this is you trying to get through to him with this number.”

She started to protest, to defend her brother, but stopped when Frank squeezed her hand.

“And if someone is trying to find you, knows Ian’s your brother, we don’t want them getting this new number for you.”

Huffing out a sigh, she nodded. “You know it was probably easier to hide in plain sight before cell phones were created.”

“You have no idea,” he said with a derisive laugh, let go of her hand and pulled back onto the road.

“I’m beginning to understand just how difficult your job protecting witnesses must be,” she said, hitting the dial button.

It didn’t even dial before Ian’s voice came through.

“This is Ian. You know what to do. Name and number, I’ll call back…maybe.”

She hit the disconnect button before the beep. “Straight to voice mail.”

“He’s either got his phone off, or the battery’s dead.”

“Which means, either way he doesn’t want to talk to me,” she said, a spark of anger at her brother hitting her hard. Turning her suddenly hot face to lay on the cool glass of the car window, she stared out into the dark night.

Thankfully, Castello refrained from giving her any kind of comforting platitudes. And why should he? Hadn’t he been negative about Ian from the beginning? Hadn’t he realized her brother’s thoughtlessness after just one day? At least Jontae had years of witnessing Ian’s behavior to make a judgement call. The Marshal had less than twenty-four hours to judge him.

But apparently, he’d been right
.

They pulled into the drive of the renovated Victorian once more, and parked in back. Grabbing her bags, she was out of the Caddy and on the porch in seconds. A beep sounded from the lock and she jerked open the door. Stopping at the counter, she dropped her bags just as Frank grasped her by the elbow and spun her toward him.

“Don’t ever do that again.” He practically spit the words at her.

She blinked, startled at the heat in his voice, trying to pull her arm loose, but he held her tight. “You’re mad? You. Are. Mad? What do you have to be angry about?”

“You.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Stalked off in a snit without considering your surroundings. You had no idea if someone might’ve followed us, or if someone lay hiding in the bushes, or even inside this house.”

Oh, hell no.
She wasn’t taking this.

She shoved her finger into his chest. “I wasn’t in a snit like some spoiled debutante. I’m angry. Angry that some mystery person decided to destroy my world, even as far as planning to end my life. I’m angry that my brother is ignoring me, apparently intentionally. And I’m really angry that you were so suspicious of him, you obviously got his number out of my phone
without
my permission. Probably to have someone in some secret place use special spy technology to find him. Even run background checks on both of us.”

His lips pressed into a grim line and he eased the grip on her arm slightly.

I hit a nerve.

“You did!” She pulled back, and this time he let her go. “You have someone investigating us, invading our privacy. Turning over every little pebble in our lives, don’t you?”

“Someone blew up your house, Syd.”

He didn’t even try to deny it.

She stalked to the other side of the kitchen, putting some space and the island between them. “So you just assumed you had the right to put my life under a microscope? Ian’s, too?”

“We’d just met. I knew virtually nothing about either of you.” He came around the corner of the counter.

“So you just assumed we were both criminals?” This time she advanced, narrowing the gap.

“No,” he said, retreating slightly. “The only thing I assumed was that you were in trouble and needed some help. I also knew I couldn’t protect you from whatever is going on without some information. A starting point.”

“So you started with my brother?” Taking another step towards him like a lioness hunting prey.

“Yes. Last night he was the only name I had to work with. He’s a photojournalist who has covered dangerous stories. I needed to know if maybe one of those stories was the trigger for the attack on your home, and now you.”

Moonlight streaming in through the window beside them showed the anger had left his face. Concern and something else softened his features and deepened his dark eyes as she moved closer. He reached up and stroked the hair from her face, letting his fingers trail down her cheek.

“You should’ve asked me last night.”

“You weren’t in any shape to answer questions last night.” He ran his hand up her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“No. I mean you should’ve asked me to go through my phone, my things.”

A flicker of something shot through his eyes. Guilt?

“Oh, my God, you went through everything?” Her anger shot back up and she tried to push him away, but this time he held her by both arms. “How could you?”

“You’re right.”

His words deflated her anger a little.

“I’m right?”

“Yes. I should’ve asked your permission. You weren’t able to give me consent last night and I should’ve waited until you could. I’m so used to dealing with criminals and witnesses who have things to hide that I treated you to the same kind of investigation. You were neither. You were a victim and I stepped over the line.”

All those words pouring out of a man who usually treated them like something to be hoarded spoke as much to his sincerity as the words themselves.

“I don’t like being used.”

“I promise, I wasn’t.”

“You want to know something about me. Ask. I’ll tell you the truth.” She laid her hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath. Tilting her head up, she stared into those soulful brown eyes. “It’s my life. I want to find out who’s doing this as much, if not more, than you do. Whoever it is, they’re trying to take the control of my life away from me. Don’t you do it, too.”

“Okay,” he said, pulling her closer.

“Okay what?” She wanted to hear exactly what he was promising.

“No more snooping around in your or your brother’s life without at least letting you know I plan to do so. No telling you what to do, unless it’s an imminent threat to your well-being, like a car bearing down on you. Then I reserve the right to act accordingly and ask forgiveness later.”

“I can live with that stipulation. And?”

“No going through your personal belongings without your permission.”

“Good,” she said, slowly pushing her arms up over his shoulders and standing on her tip-toes so she was pressed against his body. “One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Kissing me without asking permission?”

“Yes?” he asked, one brow arched and the corner of his mouth lifted in slight amusement.

“That infringement on my personal space and privacy, I rather liked.”

All amusement left his face and he crushed her to him, his mouth claiming hers in a hot rush.

Heat and need melted together deep inside her. She slid her hands into his thick, wavy, dark hair, trying to bring him closer, as she gave herself to the demand of his kiss. Her tongue met his in a dance of thrust and parry. Each taking and submitting.

His hands slipped down her back to spread across her ass cheeks, squeezing them with his long fingers and palms. Adjusting her footing on her tip-toes to cradle his erection with the junction of her thighs as he pulled her in tight. Pelvis to pelvis.

This. This was what she needed. The power to make him lose control. To feel all that strength of him claiming her.

A groan rumbled through him as he bent slightly at the knees and lifted her off her feet with his legs and his hands gripping her bottom. Clinging to his shoulders, she felt his muscles ripple beneath his jacket and T-shirt. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pressing in tight.

Then he moved—one step—rubbing the thick bulge behind his jeans against that sensitive spot covered by hers.

“Oh, yes,” she murmured, taking control of the kiss, angling her mouth to nip at his lips.

Another step.

More pressure and tingling. She answered with another moan.

Another step.

The sensation so pleasurable it bordered on painful.

Then he released his grip, and she landed on something hard and cool. The kitchen counter. Space suddenly separating their bodies.

“No. Don’t stop,” she begged, trying to pull him back in tight.

His warm hands cupped her face.

Breathing hard, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Damn, Syd. I need a minute.” He inhaled and exhaled. His eyes closed as he tried to rein in all that passion she’d felt coming from him just moments ago. “I need to think.”

“I don’t,” she said, tilting her head to capture his mouth once more.

He indulged a few moments, then dragged his mouth away, his hands holding her head still. “Stop, Sydney. You’re not thinking clearly. You don’t want to do this. It’s all adrenaline. Nothing but a hormonal response to the danger you’ve been in, the trauma that’s been happening to you.”

“It’s hormonal all right,” she said with a sarcastic laugh. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not the one you just named.”

He released his hold on her and stepped away from the island counter where he’d set her. The sudden loss of him chilling not only her body, but the need that had been soaring through her blood.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he leaned the other on the opposite counter, his back to her. “My job is to protect you, not fuck you in the middle of my kitchen.”

The words stung like a cold, hard slap.

She blew out the air in her lungs and slowly sucked more in. Gripping the granite beneath her, tears stung her eyes and she was grateful the kitchen was dark enough that he couldn’t see them.

Then it hit her.

She was nothing more than a helpless victim to him. A client to be protected. A job.

Funny, losing her home, nearly being killed and realizing she was nothing more than an afterthought to the only family she had left didn’t hurt nearly as much as this man’s rejection.

Shoving herself forward, she slid off the island. He turned at the sound of her feet hitting the floor.

“Wow. I’m so sorry I misread the way you were kissing me. I could’ve sworn you were acting like a man wanting the woman who was with him. I didn’t realize you were just doing your job and I was throwing myself at you.”

“Sydney, it’s not like that,” he said, reaching out towards her.

“Nope.” She held up her hand and inched away from him, catching her hip on the corner of the island. “Crap,” she said, as the sting in her hip added to the pain in her chest. “I appreciate you letting me know that I’m nothing more than an assignment to you. Only, I’m not an assignment, am I? Because you’re on medical leave. So that makes me, what? A pro bono case like lawyers have?”

He shoved his hand through his hair again. “No. It’s not like that. Of course you’re not a job.”

She ignored the pain in his eyes. The anger in her burst into a bonfire. He might not like what she had to say, but that was just too damn bad, because she was just getting started.

“Oh, so I’m a charity case? Something you do in your spare time? Rescue people on the side? Your good deed for the week? Do you have a Superman complex?”

“No.” He took a step towards her and she held up her hands again, shaking her head.

“You’re alone. Someone’s trying to hurt you.”

“Oh, great. I’m a pity case then. Poor little Sydney. No one loves her, no one to take care of her? Well guess what big, bad marshal. I love me. And I’ve been on my own for a long time. I don’t want, nor do I need, your pity.”

Kicking off her shoes, she took off her socks and left them all piled in the center of his neat and tidy kitchen. “But I’ll tell you something. I think you’re a coward.”

“I’m a coward?” he said, his head tilted slightly to the side.

Good
. She had his full attention now.

“You’re afraid to let go. To see where this thing between us might lead.” She unsnapped and unzipped her jeans. Shimmying them down over her bottom, thighs, and legs, she kicked them at him, hitting squarely in the chest. He caught them on reflex.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Showing you what you’re missing. What your control is costing you.” Moving to stand in the doorway to the hallway, she jerked off her jacket and tossed it on top of the island. Then she reached for the bottom of her sweater, hauling it up and over her head. She flung it towards the backdoor.

“See, Frank? See what being a little out of control can do for you? See what you could’ve had?”

She reached behind her and pulled off her bra then tossed it at his head.

“Me. Simply me. No rules. No strings.”

Finally, she slipped her hand into the waistband of her panties, slowly—her eyes locked on his, her gaze never leaving his face—she wiggled them down off her body, stepping out of them and leaving them in a silky pool on his pristine floor.

“I’m not a tidy little item you can put in its place to be taken out when it suits you, Frank. Some case file for you to analyze, a witness for you to protect and make follow your rules. I’m flesh and blood. I know what I want. It’s not the danger or the adrenaline ruling me. It’s you. I want you.”

She stared at him a moment longer. Then she straightened her spine to the full length of her five feet, turned, and strode from the room.