HEART OF MIDNIGHT Page 11

  "Don't look like you want me to make love to you. You're not ready, and I'm trying to keep us both out of trouble."

  The mirror threw their reflection back, softened by twilight and so erotic it took her breath. "This … is keeping out of trouble?"

  "This," he whispered, nuzzling her nape and nipping at her lobe, "is driving me crazy."

  The restless glide of Gray's mouth, his hands, trailed fire everywhere he touched. She watched him unfasten her jeans and push them down on her hips, revealing cream lace panties that matched her bra. She felt wanton and decadent, almost as if she belonged to another century and was being seduced by a ruthless buccaneer. Gray's hand slipped between her legs, and she cried out at the exquisite sensation.

  Gray inhaled sharply at Sam's soft, needy noises, and he cursed inwardly. He could feel how hot and damp she was, even through the barrier of lace. He bent his head, burying his face in her neck while he held on to the ragged edges of his control. She moved against him, a restless arching that stroked him to within bare centimetres of insanity. Her breasts were so full and pretty, he longed to taste them, the dark shadow beneath the ivory lace of her panties so enticing his entire body was clenched with need.

  Framed by the ornate gilt border of the mirror, Sam looked sensual and elegant and exotic. Gray decided that if Belle had looked anything like Sam, the port must have been crammed with ships and captains unwilling to leave. The entire South Pacific must have ground to a halt.

  He forced himself to cradle her gently, to not move when she rubbed up against him. Taking in a tight, hard breath, he eased his fingers beneath her panties. A raw shudder rocked him at her intense heat, the sweet moisture he found.

  She wasn't sure she wanted him yet, but her body was. Sam gasped, moving against the glide of his fingers, and with a groan he slipped into her – one finger and then two, his thumb brushing the delicate bud just above.

  Her head fell back on his shoulder, her neck as fragile and delicate as the stem of a flower. Gray turned her head and dipped, taking her mouth as she trembled and shook in his hands, plunging his tongue deep in compensation for all he was denying himself.

  He wouldn't take, no matter how much it hurt him. If he had to repeat all the reasons like a damn mantra, he would do so – anything to stop him laying her out on that bed. Sam had said she wanted him, but he'd had to wring the admission from her. He shouldn't be touching her now, because somehow he had to find the strength to walk away from her until the situation with Harper was resolved.

  Sam trembled and burned in Gray's grasp. His arm was wrapped around her waist, anchoring her against him as wave upon wave of pleasure rippled through her, as she shivered around the beguiling stroke of his fingers, the demanding rhythm of his mouth on hers.

  He withdrew his hand after a taut few moments. His breath moved across her cheek, and then abruptly she was standing alone, staring at the reflection of his back in the mirror.

  Sam's legs were wobbly, and her fingers shook as she adjusted her clothing. Unexpected tears wet her cheeks. She wasn't sure why she was crying, because he had made her feel more desirable, more vibrantly alive, than she would ever have believed possible – or was it because that was all he had done? She hadn't felt ready to make love with him, and he had honoured her wishes. Disappointment should be the last thing she was feeling.

  "Are you all right?" He met her gaze, and the dark hunger in his expression stopped the breath in her throat.

  "Why didn't you—" Her cheeks warmed. "Why didn't you make love to me when you know I would have let you?"

  Something dangerous glinted in his eyes. "I want you, Sam, make no mistake. But this time I'm not going to seduce you. If you want me, you're going to have to ask."

  Chapter 10

  Later that evening, a dark shadow coalesced in the corner of Gray's sitting room.

  Gray glanced up from the reports he had been attempting to read, when in reality he had been staring at the print and brooding about Sam. He consulted his watch. "You took your time."

  Blade emerged from behind the smothering length of a gently rotting velvet drape. "I nearly got spotted. A woman came out on her balcony to water her plants. I had to wait until she'd gone."

  "Is everything in place?"

  "We're ready. You need to get Sam out, though. This building is like a damn rabbit warren. I don't think I've ever seen so many entry points. It's giving me an uneasy feeling."

  Gray's own unease crystallised. He'd had an itch down his spine ever since he'd arrived, which was unusual. He had thought it was simply the situation with Sam, the odd sense of the past merging with the present and the difficulties of juggling two goals when he needed to be concentrating only on one: Harper.

  There was no way Harper could be here yet, but Gray didn't discount the margin for error.

  He had reason to doubt his own judgement. Seven years ago, that judgement had cost lives. "I'm shifting Sam into a safe house tomorrow. Farrell, the police officer taking her place, arrived today. Everyone has been briefed. The whole place is as wired for surveillance as we can get it and not advertise the fact. There's no way Harper can enter this building without being spotted."

  "Did you spot me?"

  Gray jerked a thumb at the adjoining bedroom, where Ben was seated in front of a monitor. The screen was presently split into four quarters, each showing a different view of the outside of the hotel. "Saw Sadie Carson douse you with the watering can. That drainpipe must have got real slick, but you hung on good. Glad to see you haven't lost your edge."

  Blade grunted and ran a hand over his wet hair. Water trickled down his neck. "Maybe you should put Ms. Carson on the payroll. With any luck, she'll do the same for that bastard Harper."

  *

  Sam came awake, her heart pounding, senses straining. Her bedroom was flooded with an almost preternatural light despite the closed drapes, courtesy of an almost full moon. But it had been something else that had roused her, a sound that her sleep-fogged brain couldn't quite identify.

  It came again. A small cry, a shuffling sound.

  She strained to hear. If there was someone outside, she should do something about it, instead of cowering inside, imagining any number of reasons for that sound. She should at least try to see if someone was attempting to break in.

  Slipping from bed, she pulled on her jeans, felt around for her sneakers and slipped them on. On impulse she inched a drawer open and pulled out a dark T-shirt, pulling that on over her thin cotton singlet.

  Leaving the flat in darkness, she walked from window to window, opening the curtains just enough that she could see outside. The liquid silver light of the moon threw the back of the hotel into stark relief, so that parts were almost as bright as day, and shadows appeared so black they were utterly impenetrable. Nothing moved. Sam watched until her eyes ached. When she was just about to give up, she detected movement at the periphery of her vision, over by the Dumpster.

  The movement came again, followed by a thin, reedy cry.

  The cry was so like a baby's that for a wild moment she thought someone must have abandoned a baby in the Dumpster. Then she saw the outline of a cat. Kittens! The answer made her weak with relief. The cat must have crawled into the Dumpster to give birth, and now she was leaving her babies so she could hunt for food.

  The only problem was, the Dumpsters were picked up and emptied regularly, and if that happened, the kittens would be crushed. Sam wasn't sure when the next pickup was. The kitchen staff generally notified the firm when the bin was nearly full, and the bin was emptied early the next morning.

  Sam didn't hesitate a moment longer. The kittens would be tiny and fragile, and she couldn't let them die. She located a cardboard box, lined it with newspaper and slipped outside, turning her security light off so it wouldn't alarm the cat, and leaving the French doors ajar. She would transfer the kittens into the box and place them in a sheltered place nearby, where the mother would be able to locate them. It wasn't much, but it was all sh
e could think of to do. Gray was moving her into a safe house tomorrow, and she wouldn't be able to look out for the kittens. She would have to get someone else to do that.

  Tension tightened the sensitive skin all down her spine as she walked toward the Dumpster. Aside from the faint mewling noises, it was unnervingly quiet. It was as if the city had been caught in a freeze frame and everything had simply stopped. There were no cars careening late at night with stereos pounding, no music drifting from all-night clubs, no breeze blowing to lift the weighty mantle of humid heat and disturb the lush tropical growth fringing the car park.

  Now that she had left the comparative security of her flat, she felt exposed and … vulnerable. It was probably an over-reaction, but she figured she was due one, and she gave herself leave to move surreptitiously, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, her head swivelling continuously, her tread as silent as she could make it.

  When she reached the Dumpster, she flattened herself against the side, listening in order to locate exactly where the kittens were. A tiny mewling pinpointed their location. She edged around to the kittens, tossed the box in and planted her hands on the metal edge, tensing her muscles preparatory to hoisting herself over the side.

  A hand landed heavily at the back of her neck, grabbing a handful of her T-shirt and a hank of hair with it. She was hauled back, spun around, pinned against the Dumpster, all the breath knocked from her lungs. For a heart-pounding moment she couldn't inhale and wondered dazedly if something vital had been crushed. When the air finally rushed in it was impeded by cold, hard metal pressed up into the soft arch of her throat.

  Sam gasped as her assailant tightened his grip on her hair, holding it wound in his fist, pulling her head back so that bright moonlight washed over her face. She didn't notice pain; the shock of the assault had numbed her senses to everything but two salient facts: she was caught and held by a large man who towered over her, and the cold metal pushing into her throat was probably the barrel of a gun.

  His breathing altered. He swore and loosened his hold on her hair.

  "Sam," a low voice rasped. "What in sweet hell are you doing out here?"

  Gray. She gulped down a breath, then another, and all the aches and pains began to register. She tried to speak, but her throat was still tight with shock. An odd gasping noise came out instead.

  Gray released her completely and stepped back. The moonlight caught him as he smoothly holstered his gun somewhere beneath his left armpit, then his hands settled on her shoulders, and he hauled her out of the shadows.

  His gaze swept furiously over her. "I thought you were a prowler. You could have got yourself badly hurt or killed."

  Her eyes narrowed. She jerked loose from his grip. "Badly hurt?" she muttered, not bothering to hide her disbelief. "My scalp is stinging where you pulled my hair. My throat is going to have a bruise on it where you tried to feed that gun to me intravenously. By my calculations, the scare you just gave me lost me at least ten years of my life. When I'm an old lady I'm going to need those ten years!"

  There was a moment of silence. "Uh, I didn't mean to hurt you, if only I'd … known."

  His voice was odd, strangled, and his shoulders were moving as if he was…

  Sam sucked in an incredulous breath. "I don't happen to think this is funny."

  "Not funny," he agreed, and this time he laughed out loud. The sound was rough and warm, and it surprised her, sending a delicious thrill shooting through her body, but mostly it incensed her.

  She pushed him. He gave a step, his shoulders still shaking. "Sam—"

  She hit him and winced. "Ouch," she muttered. "Now I've skinned my knuckles." His stomach had felt about as yielding as a wall.

  "Sorry," he murmured, still backing up as she stalked him. "I'll try to be softer in future."

  "What future? We have no future."

  He backed up another step and bumped into the weatherboard side of the hotel, and Sam found herself confronted with a situation she wasn't prepared for. She had literally shoved Gray into a corner, and now she didn't know what to do with him.

  "Don't stop now," he invited silkily, neatly outlining her dilemma. "You've got one more step to take."

  "I've done enough walking for tonight."

  "Amen to that." He caught hold of her hands and pulled her against him, taking her by surprise. "I'm sorry about pulling your hair." His fingers slid into her scalp, massaging the sore area and effectively holding her captive. He dipped and his warm breath shivered across her cheek just before his lips caressed her mouth. "And I'm sorry I hurt your throat."

  Using his hands, he tilted her head back and transferred his mouth to her throat. His breath once more warm and damp against her skin, his tongue startlingly hot as he stroked the sore area.

  He lifted his head and stared down into her eyes; the moonlight struck him full on, but evidently he didn't think he had to make any effort to hide the wicked grin that curved his mouth. "But most of all I'm sorry about those ten years. I was looking forward to spending them with you."

  Sam gritted her teeth and shoved. He controlled the movement with ease. Her knee came up purely on reflex. He countered that move too quickly for her to make the satisfying contact she wanted, but his initial grunt as her knee jabbed his thigh was better than nothing. At least he let her go.

  Their eyes locked. His were darkly contained, assessing.

  "Now that you've had your fun, it's my turn." She stabbed her finger at the shoulder rig and gun. "What are you doing prowling around out here with that? And I think it's about time you told me more than the half-truths you've been doling out. Who are you working for? Is it still the military?"

  "You've been watching too many movies. Aren't you scared that if I tell you, I might have to kill you?"

  "I'll take my chances."

  He shrugged. "I don't work full-time for the military, I haven't for years, but I am still … affiliated. I maintain a certain level of training and weapon skills."

  "Affiliated?" She didn't bother to hide her disbelief.

  He hesitated, and then seemed to come to a decision. "I was with the Special Air Service for a time. I'm still attached in an unofficial capacity."

  "The SAS." Several jagged pieces of the puzzle that was Gray had just slotted neatly into place. Special forces. She should have known. "Still attached in an 'unofficial capacity.' I should have known that, too." With a last baleful glance at Gray, she turned on her heel and strode away.

  Gray caught her before she'd gone two steps. "What in bell are you talking about?"

  "The secret agent role fits you perfectly. No explanations, no complications, just action and more action – a little sex on the side – then you just…" She threw his hands off. "…disappear!"

  "I wasn't the one who disappeared."

  "Don't split hairs!" Sam hauled in a breath.

  "You're not going to hit me again, are you?"

  "You should be so lucky."

  His hand lifted as if he were going to reach for her again; then he thought better of it. "So … now that you've calmed down," he murmured in a soothing, cajoling voice, as if she was a mental patient who needed pacifying, Sam thought furiously, "are you going to tell me what you're doing out here?"

  "Rescuing kittens." She spun on her heel and started toward the Dumpster. "What's your excuse?"

  "I heard glass breaking and went to have a look. A couple of street lamps got knocked out. It was probably random vandalism."

  She hauled herself over the side of the Dumpster, landing in amongst the rubbish as lightly as she could. Even so, her foot squelched in something gross, and the squalid smell made her wish she could cancel breathing for the next few minutes. Although the smell wasn't nearly as bad as it could be. The bin was filled with a large quantity of flattened cardboard boxes and newspapers, which was probably why the mother cat had decided it would be such a good place to have her kittens. Retrieving the box she'd chucked in earlier, she handed it to Gray. "I'll pass you the
kittens. Your job is to put them in the box. No gun required. Definitely no licence to kill needed."

  She handed him the first squirming bundle. The kitten was absurdly tiny in his big hands. He awkwardly but tenderly placed the kitten in the box.

  "Maybe you've got potential," she allowed as she picked up another kitten.

  He cradled it with the same care. "I'm also nice to old ladies and young children. My mother likes me."

  Sam located another kitten.

  "I do have a mother, you know." His voice was deceptively meek as he accepted the kitten. "I wasn't hatched."

  "I'll bet your mom's relieved to hear it."

  There was a small silence while Gray transferred the wiggling bundle into the box. "Know what, Munro? You've got a smart mouth, but you're in luck because—" He took the fourth and final kitten from her. Before she could draw back, he leaned forward and boldly stole a kiss, reminding her just what a pirate he really was. "—I like that in a woman."

  Sam blinked at the swift, warm pressure of his mouth on hers, unwillingly charmed by Gray's whimsical behaviour and angry with herself for letting him run such circles around her. Just when she thought she was getting the advantage, he neatly turned the situation around, leaving her with more questions than answers.

  She vaulted over the side of the Dumpster, determinedly banishing the giddy delight of his mouth on hers, glad that Gray's hands were fully occupied with the box of kittens. She had the feeling that if he hadn't had the box to hold on to, he would be holding her, and she doubted her ability to handle him in his present mood. Somehow, in the last few minutes, their relationship – such as it was – had just undergone a major shift. She had been sparring with him. Cancel that, she had been flirting with him. And Gray had given as good as he'd got.

  "Where do you want these?"

  The mother cat slunk from the shadows. The kittens were snuffling and mewling, and she looked anxious.

  Sam pointed to a loading bay, where goods were usually dropped off. The structure was little more than a wooden overhang, but it was sturdy, and usually dry underneath. Gray disappeared into the inky shadows and emerged seconds later. The cat slipped by like a wraith, homing in on her babies.