Avenging Angel (17 page)

A grin eased its way across his mouth. “And I thought this wasn’t going to be my lucky day.”

It was his smile more than his innuendo that caused Johanna’s composure to slip. That sensual smile made promises she knew he could keep if she gave him half a chance. She hadn’t tired of kissing him the night before, not nearly. When he’d fallen asleep in her arms, she’d kissed him dozens of times, light feathery kisses on his face, neck, and shoulders, trying to tell him even in his dream state that she cared for him.

And she did care for him, more than was sensible or wise. If it didn’t hurt so badly, she might have admitted to loving him. But love, and emotional survival, and Dylan Jones did not mix. It was better to make love with him and tell herself she did it out of compassion and because no one had ever touched her the way he had—not because she loved him.

“You have cuts on your legs,” she said. “I want to see them too. So you’re going to have to take your pants off.”

He started toward her, still grinning. “You’re either going to get embarrassed or in trouble.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” he said, stopping just in front of her. He reached out and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I was worried when I woke up and you were gone.”

Scared senseless was more like it, but Dylan wasn’t going to admit to that.

“I went for a walk. It’s very peaceful outside, and very, very quiet.” She grinned. “I don’t know where all the animals are, but I didn’t see anything. No Bambi. No Thumper. No Smokey.”

“If we had time, I could show you.”

“I thought you were a city boy, born and bred.”

“Yeah, but even city boys like to get out into the woods whenever they can.”

“In case you didn’t notice, there are no woods in Chicago,” she informed him with a knowing tilt of her head.

“My dad lives in Minnesota, the northern part”

“And your morn?” she asked, her face softening in curiosity.

“She lives in Florida now. But when I was growing up, we lived in Chicago.”

“Divorce?”

“I always thought ‘broken home’ was more descriptive of what happens when a man decides to trade in the middle-aged worn-out wife who bore all his children and get himself a younger bed partner. The second Mrs. Jake Jones is only two years older than my oldest sister. Lily has never forgiven my father for that.”

“You have a sister?” she asked, her surprise evident.

“Three, and one brother.”

“You come from a family of five children?” Her gaze narrowed, as if the question were an accusation she didn’t quite believe herself.

“Yes,” he said warily, not quite sure why the news was so shocking. “I’m the youngest.”

She just looked at him for a minute with an emotion he couldn’t define darkening her eyes. Then she turned her back on him and pointed at the toilet. “Sit there.”

It was a command, not a request, and he complied while she readied the first-aid supplies she had piled around the sink.

“So where are they? All these sisters and your brother?” she asked, her voice tight.

“Pretty much spread from coast to coast. Lily is still in Chicago, Kevin’s in Boston, Brenda’s in Florida with Mom, and Erin lives in San Francisco.”

She ripped open three sterile bandages and slammed a roll of tape down next to them. “And they let you run around like this? All by yourself? Hurt, and bleeding, and in danger?”

“I’m a big boy, Johanna, and this isn’t exactly their line of work.” He was relieved to know something more serious wasn’t bothering her.

“Somebody should be helping you.” She twisted the hot-water tap on and threw a washcloth into the sink.

“You’re helping me.”

“
I mean somebody else
.” She turned on him, hands on her hips. “I mean somebody who cares for you, like a brother or a sister, or someone who is responsible for you like the damn FBI you keep telling me you work for. Where in the hell are they? Why aren’t they helping you? Helping us?”

Now she was getting close to dangerous territory, asking about his rogue status. He had asked himself the same question a hundred times over the last few months, and he’d come up with the same answer all one hundred times.

“I don’t think they trust me,” he said, keeping his voice nonjudgmental.

“They don’t trust you?” She didn’t sound like she believed him.

“I don’t think so.” He laughed a little shakily and shook his head. “They’ve been cutting me loose for weeks, setting me up for something I’ve been trying damn hard to stay out of. I don’t know what.”

“Why wouldn’t they trust you?”

“A couple of people were killed, a couple of their people. I’m sure they thought I should have been able to prevent what happened.”

Her prolonged silence told him what she was thinking even before she spoke.

“The man from Chicago, the one who cut you, was he one of their people?”

She was using her lawyer’s voice on him. He didn’t blame her—not too much—but it ticked him off.

“Johnny Shepherd, also known as Johnny the Shark, was no federal agent,” he said. “He was a southside pimp before he got promoted to work as a piece of body armor for Austin Bridgeman. Nobody’s crying in their beer over losing Johnny Shepherd, least of all the Feds.”

“Is he the message you left Austin in Lincoln, Nebraska?”

He wasn’t going to answer such an incriminating question, and the look he gave her told her as much.

“Will there be a murder charge?” She rephrased her words to the same effect.

He held her gaze steadily with his own. “I don’t think they’re going to be able to find anyone to hang it on.”

Her face paled, and she turned away from him as his meaning sank in. “Don’t say things like that.”

“I’m just being realistic,” he said, rising to his feet and slowly turning her back around to face him. “The only way I can stay one step ahead of Austin is to face the facts and take them for what they are, good and bad.”

“Arc there any good facts?” she asked.

“Other than you? Damn few.” He slid his hands up her arms and pulled her closer. “Something was going wrong with this case from the very beginning, and I’ve never been able to figure it out. When that happens, it can only be because somebody with more authority than you doesn’t want you figuring it out. They’re withholding information. That’s what got the other two agents killed, not me.”

“So go to somebody with more authority than the person you think is keeping information from you,” she said, her voice lifting hopefully.

“The last person I went to is dead,” he said bluntly. He didn’t want her getting her hopes up for him. He didn’t want her losing sight of reality. Lord knows, he was trying damn hard not to lose sight of what lay ahead. He’d lied to her about what he was going to do after he stashed her with Charlie. He wasn’t heading to Mexico and hoping Austin followed him. He was going after the bastard, and he had every intention of killing him if he got the chance. It was the only way to protect her. It was the only chance she had of seeing next week, let alone living to a ripe old age. His own chances didn’t look nearly as good. He knew exactly how well protected Austin was, and he knew exactly what he’d have to do to get through that protection.

She lowered her head to his chest on a heavy sigh and closed her eyes. “That’s a bad sign when your superiors start dying, a very bad sign. There’s got to be something we can do.”

“You’ve done your part,” he said, brushing his lips across her temple. And if you’d like”—he lowered his mouth to her ear—“you can do it again.”

She looked up at him. “I’m serious.”

“So am I, counselor.” A suggestive light warmed his eyes and put a half smile on his face.

“Last night wasn’t a civic duty. I’m not with the DA’s office.”

“And making love with you again isn’t going to change my chances, but I want to do it anyway . . . very badly.” His mouth came down on hers, hot and sweet, and his body eased up against her, rocking gently, reminding her of how good it had been in the night.

Johanna allowed the kiss, because she couldn’t resist, but she refused to be dissuaded from the job at hand. Slowly but surely she felt him come to the realization that if nothing else, she was serious about playing doctor.

“I’m not going to win this one, am I?” he asked between shorter kisses.

“Not for about ten more minutes. That’s all I’m asking. I’m worried about you. I need to see what kind of damage I did to you, and see if I can do a better job.” She stepped away and turned to shut off the bathwater.

“I don’t think I can take another suture,” he told her. “I was pretty wired the other night, and having you sew me up seemed like a sensible idea. I’m more relaxed now, and it seems like a crazy thing to have made you do.”

“I promise, no more sutures. But we need to disinfect and rebandage.” She picked up a box of cotton swabs.

“I’ll tell you what, counselor.” He took hold of her hand and relieved her of the swabs. “You give me those ten minutes alone in here to get cleaned up. Then I’ll let you do anything you want with me.”

“Do you need help with your pants?”

He glanced down at himself and saw her do the same. When their eyes met, a smile he couldn’t help graced his mouth and brought a blush to her face.

“If I get into trouble, I’ll let you know. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, backing out of the bathroom, her blush deepening for every degree his smile broadened.

Dylan looked down at the woman in his arms and traced the curve of her shoulder with his hand. She was resting her head on his abdomen, her breathing in rhythm with his, the soft, silky strands of her hair trailing over his groin.

He had bathed, then let her rebandage him to her heart’s content, an indulgence that had paid off in the healing caresses of her fingers over his body. Making love with her had made his renewal complete.

He breathed deeply, stretching his muscles, and she slid her hand up his chest. God, he could get used to having her with him, to having her kind of tenderness in his life. He was already addicted to the pleasure.

With no more reminder than the trace of his last thought, he felt arousal spread once more through his loins. He slowly pushed himself up and lowered his mouth to hers, rolling her beneath him.

There was no getting enough of her.

* * *

Johanna sat on the edge of the bed and finished buttoning the shirt she had borrowed from him. Dylan was asleep behind her, still resting in what had turned into an early-morning nap—or so she thought until his arm came around her waist and brought her back down to his side.

“Impossible,” she said, shaking her head at him before she leaned forward and gave him a kiss. “You can’t possibly . . .” Her voice faltered as he moved her hand across the top of the sheet and placed it between his thighs.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, counselor.”

“It’s you I’ve been underestimating,” she said, her face suffusing with color.

He laughed softly at her blush. “I know. Me too.” A smile that was both cocky and self-deprecating teased his mouth. “It’s almost embarrassing, wanting you like this.”

“I never meant to embarrass you.” She lowered her lashes and lightly stroked him beneath the sheet.

Dylan groaned and tightened his hand on her waist, reacting to the rush of sensation caused by her touch. He closed his eyes and felt her slip away, down his body. Then his breath caught and his heart started pounding. She took him in her mouth, her breath warming him, her tongue tracing paths of dampness and lightning up and down the length of him.

His next groan came from deep in his chest and the one after that from even lower as she slowly and deliberately drove him closer to the edge of bliss. He floated in the sheer, sweet passion of her wantonness, receiving the most intimate gift of her love, until his need to be inside her became a consuming passion all its own.

“Johanna,” he said through his teeth. When she didn’t respond, he reached down and ran his hands through her hair, lifting her. “Come here.”

Her eyes were glazed, her body like liquid fire heating his skin as she came to him. Rolling to the side, he pinned her beneath him and spread her legs with his knee, making room for himself between her thighs.

“I’m going to make you mine,” he promised, then buried himself inside her with one deep thrust, sheathing himself in her heat. He captured her cry of surprise with his open mouth and pushed into her again, his body shaking. His rhythm was strong and unrepentantly meant to seduce her beyond the boundaries of given love, his goal nothing less than the same total surrender he felt building inside himself. He’d never before wanted so much from a woman. He’d never before wanted a woman to be his so completely.

With another man Johanna would have fought such a forceful claiming. He asked for nothing, took everything, and gave no quarter—all with an overwhelming intensity. He was Dylan, his actions said, and she was his. He would accept nothing less, he wanted nothing more.

In her heart she had been ready and willing to give him everything, but she hadn’t truly known what everything could entail. The man above her had known, and he was teaching her with the driving force of his body what it meant to belong to only one man and no other.