One Kiss More (30 page)

Seconds later, the curtain was brushed aside and Landon leaned against the wall in all of his naked glory. He was so tall he almost reached the rod that held the curtain up and Emma couldn’t help but admire every muscled inch of him. Having spent her fair share of time with pro athletes, Emma wasn’t exactly a stranger to great bodies. But there was something about Landon that made every other guy dim in her memory until they were nothing more than pale comparisons to the man standing before her. He still had that swimmer’s build, but the years had matured his body, made his shoulders wider, his body bulkier. Her gaze wandered down his torso and the narrow taper of his waist to the junction of his hips. His erection jutted out from between his legs, and Emma dragged her eyes back up to his. Landon McCabe was insatiable. She quirked a brow, and her breath caught as he did a little admiring of his own before stepping into the shower behind her.

Maybe Sousa had killed her a few days ago and this was heaven.

“Give me the soap.”

She’d give him
anything
he wanted when he spoke to her in that dark, smoky tone. The soap was a no-brainer. Emma handed him the sudsy bar and he massaged it in his hands before lathering her shoulders, his deft fingers working her skin with the perfect amount of pressure as he washed her.

“Oh. My
God
.” Emma’s moan echoed off the shower walls. The man was an artist. A virtuoso in the art of bathing. “Can we stay in here? Like, forever?”

Amusement rumbled in Landon’s chest as he spun her around and went to work on her back. Pleasant tingles chased over Emma’s skin as his palms massaged her, his touch firm as he moved in slow circles over her shoulder blades and then down each individual vertebrae of her spine. Emma went completely limp—it was a wonder she didn’t slip right down the drain with the sudsy water.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Emma said on a sigh. “Should I even ask where you acquired the skill necessary to bathe a woman so thoroughly?”

His slick, soapy hands traveled downward, over the small of her back, swirling over her butt and the tops of her thighs. It was a good thing her arms were braced on the shower wall. Because she was pretty sure it was the only thing keeping her upright. One of Landon’s hands slipped between her thighs and Emma’s breath hitched.

“Maybe I was looking for an excuse to touch you,” he suggested. “And as far as my skills go, I’m just really,
really
concerned about your hygiene.”

Emma laughed. “Liar.”

“Okay, so your hygiene is already good. But I did want an excuse to touch you. Plus . . .”

Uh-oh. That “plus” sounded a little too ominous. “What?”

“My motives aren’t entirely selfish. I want you to relax, okay?”

Definitely ominous. “Why, Landon? What’s going on?”

“Damien called. The buy is on and Sousa wants his money.”

“All right.” The sound of water rushing around her drowned out the sound of her own voice. She had known this moment was coming and she was ready. So why were her nerves getting the best of her all of a sudden? Her heart spun in a perfect spiral as it plummeted into her stomach and her tongue was trying to adhere itself to the roof of her mouth. The thought of walking back into Sousa’s camp made her feel sick, but the quicker this was all over, the better. She wanted her dad out of Sousa’s custody. He needed to get to a doctor. Who knew what a few weeks of captivity had done to him. “When do we leave?”

“We’re meeting Damien at Pine and Second in an hour. Apparently, Sousa wants his men to keep their distance from the hotel. I think he’s still suspicious of me.”

“What does that mean?” If his men did anything to Landon, Emma would never be able to live with herself.

Landon leaned in close, his bare chest brushing her back as he reached around to lather her stomach. Her muscles clenched at the intimate contact and her eyes drifted blissfully closed. “It doesn’t mean anything yet. Don’t worry. He’s simply being cautious. I’d be more worried if he wasn’t suspicious. All it means is you’re going to have to sport that god-awful blond wig one more time since we’ll be out in public. We’ll meet Damien, you’ll transfer Sousa’s money back to him, and your part will be played until he decides whether or not to keep you on the payroll. You, me, and your father will walk out of there, and you’ll be one step closer to being free of all of this.”

He was lying to her. His doubt crept over her like an early autumn frost. “Landon . . .” His hands swept up her torso to cup her breasts and Emma melted against him. What if this was the last time she’d ever feel his touch? Hear the warm timbre of his voice in her ear? What if right now—this moment—was their last together before Sousa killed them all to protect his secrets? Steam billowed around them as Emma turned in Landon’s embrace. She splayed her fingers across the hard planes of his chest, rubbed her palms over his flat nipples, and drank in every detail of his face. The straight line of his jaw, the arch of his brows, dark lashes that fringed his eyes, irises light blue as the Caribbean and run with gold. Full lips that spread into a sinful smile that said,
Come a little closer and I will do dirty, depraved things to you, and you will beg me for more.

“What?” His eyes searched her face, his brow puckered.

The words hovered on the tip of her tongue.
I love you
.
I’ve loved you since I was eighteen, even though I didn’t really know you
.
I can’t live without you. I don’t want to
. But she couldn’t say it. She was too afraid. If they made it out of this alive—which was doubtful—he might leave anyway and her heart would be irreparably broken. By keeping her feelings unspoken, she
might
salvage a tiny piece of herself. Maybe.

“What, Emma?” Landon pulled her close and put his mouth close to her ear. “Are you okay? You’re sort of freaking me out here.”

Tears stung at Emma’s eyes and it felt as though her heart were swelling inside of her chest, about to explode. She swallowed against the lump of emotion rising in her throat and said, “I just want you to know that I won’t let you down. And . . .” She breathed through the tears, stuffed them right down to her toes. “And that I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“Look at me.” Landon put her at arm’s length and the hot spray of water ran in rivulets down her back. Despite the heat, she shivered. “We’re going to be okay. I
promise
you, Emma. Everything is going to be okay.”

He was a pretty liar, that much was certain. “I think you missed a spot.” She looked down at her arms.

He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Far be it from me to slack off on the job.”

“My hair next?” She’d make these moments count. After he shampooed her hair, she’d wash him slowly, explore his body one last time.

“Sure,” he said. “But I’m next.”

Emma plastered what she hoped was a carefree expression on her face. “Promise.”

Sousa wasn’t stupid, but the good criminals never were. This close to the buy, he’d grown overly cautious, so it wasn’t really a surprise that he didn’t want Damien picking Landon and Emma up at the hotel. For all Sousa knew, the Marshals Service could be planning to ambush him there. They might have vetted Emma with that stunt to blackmail Mike Shanahan, but Landon was still a variable. And if they believed he was simply along for the ride for a piece of ass, well, then they deserved to get caught.

Following their shower—which had ended with yet another out-of-this-world orgasm for each of them—Emma had become unusually quiet. Landon didn’t know if her introspective attitude had more to do with worry, or simply preparation, but he didn’t like it.

She walked beside him down the sidewalk in her blond wig with large, round, ultra-dark glasses that practically swallowed her face. Emma kept close to him, as though they were connected by a short piece of string. When he shifted, she shifted. When his pace increased, she matched it. If she didn’t settle down, it would throw up all sorts of red flags.

“Emma?”

Landon’s heart seized at the mention of her name, which had been choked out in sorrowful disbelief.
Keep walking. Just keep walking
. They couldn’t risk her being recognized, and likewise Landon didn’t want to bring any attention to themselves by stopping to see who had called out her name.
Fuck
. He clamped his jaw down and swallowed the string of curse words that threatened to escape. Of all the shitty timing . . .

“Emma!”

Goddamn it. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t about to let up. The sound of his voice was closer now, bouncing as though he was running to catch up. If he didn’t shut the fuck up, he’d draw the attention of everyone on the street. Beside him, Emma’s step faltered, and Landon grabbed on to her elbow to keep her moving along. “Don’t look back. Don’t engage.”

She was spun right out of his grasp, and Landon reached for his Glock tucked into the holster concealed by his coat. Their meeting spot was in sight and no doubt Damien was waiting. And watching. They couldn’t afford any trouble right now.

Emma looked shell-shocked as the guy Landon recognized as her friend from the club held on to her shoulders, hunched over to get a good look at her. He snatched the sunglasses off her face, and Landon reacted, pulling him away from her and forcing him bodily into an alley to their left. The guy was built like a freaking redwood—a good foot taller and forty or so pounds heavier than he was—causing Landon to pull his gun in an effort to convince him to cooperate and get the fuck off the sidewalk.

“Emma, run!”

Landon rolled his eyes. Wasn’t he a gallant son of a bitch. Emma stood stock-still on the sidewalk, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Emma, get off the street,” Landon barked. If their plan went south now, there was no telling what Sousa would do to them. “Now.”

She came out of her stupor and dove into the alley, eyes wide and fearful. “Don’t hurt him, Landon!” Jesus, what did she think he was going to do? Pop a cap in her boyfriend’s ass? Though to be honest, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.... “Landon.” Her warning tone indicated that she might in fact be a mind reader. “This is my friend, Jeremy.”

Jeremy? The one who took her out for the fancy lunch at the Metropolitan Grill?
That
Jeremy? Now, he really did want to shoot him.

“Emma, what in the hell is going on?” Jeremy looked from Landon to Emma, eyes bugged out of his head. “I thought you were dead! The news reports said you’d been shot. I’ve been killing myself the past few days trying to get something—anything—out of the cops, but no one would tell me a goddamned thing. And I see you walking down the street . . . Jesus. Why are you wearing a wig? What the fuck is happening right now? And who is this clown?”

Clown? Landon choked up on the grip of his Glock as he pointed it at Jeremy’s face. “This
clown
is the man trying to keep her alive, while you, asshole, seem to be hell-bent on getting her killed. Shut your mouth, calm the hell down, and I’ll let you go. Got it?”

Jeremy looked to Emma for confirmation, and she said, “It’s true, Jeremy. Landon’s a U.S. marshal. I’m in protective custody. Sort of. But you can’t draw any attention to us, okay? Landon’s right. We all need to settle down.”

Protective custody? Was that all she wanted this guy to think he was to her? Just the chump responsible for keeping her ass safe until she got her dad clear of Sousa? Anger and jealousy flared as his fist tightened around Jeremy’s jacket.

“Landon?” Emma sounded unsure as she rested a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Please. Let him go.”

His common sense snapped back like a rubber band as he took a couple steps backward and holstered his gun. Filling his lungs with a few ragged breaths through his nose, he peeked out of the alley and cursed under his breath.
Fuck
. Looked like they weren’t going to catch a break.

Landon ducked back into the alley seconds before Damien’s van came to a screeching halt, the nose of the vehicle angled toward them. “This is bad, isn’t it?” Emma’s frightened tone tore at him. He wanted to reassure her that everything would be all right, but he couldn’t. Right now, he doubted any of them would make it out of this alive. A crew of four spilled from the confines of the van while Damien regarded Landon from the driver’s seat, a hardness accentuating his already ominous expression. He obviously wasn’t happy about the way things were going down either. Or the extra passenger he was about to acquire.

“Get in the van.”

Landon was relieved of his sidearm by one guy, while another jabbed him in the shoulder with the barrel of an AK-47 to move him along. Their armed escorts didn’t leave much room for argument. “Emma, get in the van.”

“Em—” Jeremy reached out to stop her, gallant idiot that he was, only to have a couple of semi-autos shoved into his face. His nostrils flared, but he made no other outward show of aggression. At least he was smart enough to know when he was at a disadvantage.

“You don’t need him.” Landon jerked his chin in Jeremy’s direction. “He doesn’t know anything. Harmless. Another horny dipshit trying to pick up on my girl.”

“Bullshit,” Goon Number One barked. “You think we’re stupid? He knows who she is. Get in the van,
pendejo
.”

“That would be you,
asshole
,” Landon said to Jeremy with a smirk. It was vital to his cover that he play the part of a compromised U.S. marshal. Showing off his conscience wasn’t going to do anyone a damned bit of good.

“Cesar will decide if he’s harmless or not,
policía
. You get no say. You’re just along for the ride.”

“Fair enough,” Landon replied with an unconcerned shrug. God-fucking-
damn
it. He ground his molars as Goon Number Two poked Jeremy with the barrel of his AK to get him moving. Landon fell into step directly behind him and murmured, “Keep your eyes down and mouth shut and you might make it out of this alive. Understand?” Jeremy inclined his head, his acquiescence almost imperceptible. “Good.”

It was going to be sticky enough getting Emma and her dad out of this situation in one piece. Now he had this possible ex-boyfriend to worry about too?
Fucking awesome
. Landon shook his head as he climbed into the van beside Jeremy, irked that the other man had decided to park his ass right next to Emma. Where he wanted—needed—to be.