Heart Raider (Heartthrob Series, Book 1) (6 page)

Down, boy, he told himself with a wry shake of his head.

Chapter Five

A booming crack of thunder jarred Veronique awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and switched on the lamp beside the bed. Hurricane Abby was finally here.

She usually slept naked, but tonight she had slept in Nick’s T-shirt and bikini panties. She ran to peek out the window, but stopped when she rememberd it was shuttered. She hefted her purse, which carried her life’s essentials and reporter’s tools, onto her shoulder, grabbed a flashlight and then inched her way down the corridor in search of Nick’s room. Just as she turned a corner, an earsplitting crash stopped her cold—that and the impact of bumping into something solid.

“Oomph!” she said, colliding smack into Nick’s bare chest. “What was that noise?”

“I’m not sure. Could be one of the big trees was hit by lightning.” Nick steadied her waist. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t the hurricane, but Nick’s strong hands on her that was making her weak-kneed. She forced steel into her backbone and eased out of his grip. “I’m pretty stoked about the hurricane. It’s going to make a great story.”

Nick cursed. Obviously, he didn’t share her excitement.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand, switched on the hall light and pulled her towards the master suite, with Baxter panting at his heels. When they entered, a crackling bolt of lightning struck, followed by a blast of deafening thunder. The hall light went out and the house was draped in darkness. “Quick, get into the master closet.”

Veronique aimed her flashlight at Nick’s hard-muscled torso above his faded jeans. Awestruck by the sheer immensity of his strength, she stared at the beautiful lines of his sculpted body.

“Hurry up. We’re in for the worst of it.” He grabbed a yellow industrial flashlight from the nightstand and tugged her along.

Once inside his closet, Veronique’s nostrils were greeted by the scent of cedar walls. She inhaled deeply, thrilled to have a firsthand look at his closet without having to snoop. The cedar-lined room was about eight by ten feet, filled mostly with T-shirts, jeans, and khakis.

“Nice,” she murmured as she settled cross-legged on the oak plank floor. Crooning soothing words, she pet Baxter who plopped down beside her. Veronique enjoyed another glimpse of Nick before he switched off his flashlight.

“Turn yours off too,” he said. “We need to save the batteries for later.”

Veronique complied and listened to the whistling wind and the rain pinging against the metal roof. She wished they could be outside to witness it.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she said, scooting to sit beside Nick, thigh to thigh.

Baxter groaned a few times, settled near them and soon was making little snoring noises.

“I know Baxter ate a lot, but just listen to him. He’s sleeping like we drugged him,” Veronique said in disbelief. “He’s the only dog I’ve ever known not to freak out over a storm.”

“I’ve never seen a dog sleep through a storm either. He’s pretty mellow.”

“Could be he’s tired after all that playing he did in the rain this afternoon.”

Nick nodded, but didn’t add to the conversation.

Veronique smiled, imagining what Teddy and Natasha would say if they knew she was holed up in a closet with Nick. The three of them used to sit for hours, giggling and imagining that their favorite, cute counselor had favored one of them with a special smile or some form of attention. Nick had been strong and mature for his age—much more than the other camp counselors. While the others had goofed off at night, he’d been up late reading or studying. He’d always be her Jake Ryan from her favorite teen movie,“Sixteen Candles”.

On impulse, she touched Nick’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. His jaw tensed beneath her lips. “What was that for?” He sounded gruff at being caught off guard.

“Just wanted to show you how much I appreciate you taking me in. You’re the best, Nick,” she said, meaning every word. Her cool fingers touched the rigid side of his face.

He clasped her wrist and lowered her hand. “You’re playing with fire, Ronnie.”

“If you’re fire, I want to get burned,” she said without hesitation. She’d often been criticized for being too impulsive, but she couldn’t hold back. Not now when Nick was seeing her as a woman. This might be her only chance. There was no turning back.

“Sweet talk isn’t going to get you that interview,” he said edgily.

He thought she was seducing him for an
interview?
She should have been insulted, but this was Nick, and he’d been burned one too many times by the people he’d trusted. She understood why he would say that.

“It’s not sweet talk. I’ve had a crush on you forever. Wasn’t it obvious at summer camp?” she asked, touching his stiff arm.

“No. You were too busy cooking up trouble for me to notice.” He sounded surprised.

“After that last summer at camp, I kept up to date on all your achievements over the years, and I couldn’t be prouder. I always knew you were a leader and that you’d be a huge success. You are the most decent and hardworking person I know. I meant it when I said you’re the best, Nick.”

“Come on,” he said, sounding skeptical.

“It’s true I’m being sincere,” she said, edging so close she felt the heat emanating from his powerful body. Nick’s sexual energy crackled around them and she wondered if he could hear her wildly galloping heartbeat.

He surprised her by cupping her chin and tilting her face upward. She went still as he held her face in his hands and bent his head to cover her mouth with his. He pressed his warm lips against hers and kissed her slowly, triggering a wave of pleasure so acute, she caught her breath. His tongue teased the seam of her lips until she parted them and he explored the contours of her mouth, his tongue deliberately sliding and stroking against hers, tasting her thoroughly.

Veronique wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, welcoming everything—his erotic tongue, his heady taste, the firm pressure of his mouth on hers. Oh God, he smelled divine. His male scent drew her like nothing she’d ever experienced.

She moaned into his mouth as his strong hands lowered from her face and slid down to stroke her sensitized back. She pressed her breasts against his hard chest and they pebbled into tender points as he held her anchored to him.

Heavy, drugging desire formed a delicious pull in her lower belly, pulsing inside her, building a restless ache between her thighs. She yearned for him, wanted him so badly she could barely catch her breath. Her skin was chafed where his shadowy beard had rubbed against and her mouth felt swollen and achy from his hard, hungry kisses. She didn’t want to break contact, not even for a second.

She placed a tentative hand on his muscled thigh, and when he shifted positions, her knuckles brushed against his hard erection, but she didn’t move her hand. Nick groaned deeply into her mouth and pushed her hand away.

Veronique watched him draw in rough, jagged breaths. His nostrils flared and his breathing was labored as he swore under his breath. Sexual tension emanated from him like a force field and every muscle in her body tensed with longing. She bit her lip to stop from pleading for him to continue. He’d almost lost control, but there was no way Nick was going to let an investigative reporter into his well-guarded life, especially when he didn’t trust her. After his ex-wife’s deception, he probably didn’t trust
any
woman. He’d become a loner, emotionally and physically.

Heat crept up from Veronique’s neck, making her cheeks flame. Grateful for the darkness surrounding them, she darted up from the floor, rousing Baxter from his nap. The dog stirred and started to get up.

“Sit, Bax. Sit.” Nick patted the dog’s rump until he sat back down, panting. “Where are you going?” His hand on Veronique’s calf raised a trail of goose bumps on her skin, and she shivered as she slid open the closet door.

She couldn’t stay there blushing like a fool. She felt splintered, her feelings laid bare and rejected by a man too distrustful to love again. It was painful to admit, but she understood where he was coming from. She herself was terrified of falling in love. It always led to pain and suffering. She’d seen what it had done to Maman, and many of Veronique’s friends were already divorced after only a few years of marriage.

The weighted atmosphere of Nick’s frustration and unspoken regret set her nerves on edge. She needed an escape plan and suddenly remembered the half-finished bottle of wine on his kitchen table. She could use a bit of
vino
to compose her tattered emotions.

“There’s something missing from our hurricane party,” she blurted out and instantly felt stupid for referring to what they’d just shared as a party. What was wrong with her? She was unhinged by his nearness…and his kisses. Hot, carnal kisses that had robbed her of her senses. He wasn’t the first guy who’d ever kissed her, but he was the best. So skilled was he that no man would ever measure up.

Veronique dashed toward the kitchen, ignoring his calls to come back. Stumbling down the dark hall, she wished she’d thought of bringing a flashlight. Too late to turn back now. She slowed down and made her way to the kitchen, telling herself all was not lost. They had a whole night together. Nothing could ruin it. She’d somehow get him to relax and then things would resume. One small step at a time, she’d get him to open up.

Bolstered by her plan, she returned and sat beside him, bottle in hand.

“Want some?” she asked, extending the bottle before she took a sip.

He tensed. “Damn it! Don’t ever pull a stupid stunt like that again. You could have fallen with the wine bottle and cut yourself.” His harsh tone startled her.

“Oh please, nothing happened,” she said lightly. “Chill. Finding my way to the kitchen was no big deal. Maneuvering a dark hall is nothing. You forget I’ve been to Afghanistan.”

Nick drew a forceful breath. “I don’t give a damn where you’ve been. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t put you over my knee before the night is over,” he growled, taking the bottle from her hands. “I’d relish it too.”

“Brute.”

“Brat.”

She hated that he was back to treating her like a brat. Veronique wrestled the bottle out of his grip and took a sip straight from the bottleneck. Try all he might, there was no denying that
he
had kissed
her
. Hungry, driving kisses of a man ready to mate. Her body still tingled in intimate places and her heart lifted when she remembered how he’d struggled to stop. He’d looked almost savage when he thrust her away from him.

“No sense in wasting good wine. Have some,” she said, extending the bottle.

“Not now.” His tone was clipped as he pushed it away.

“Suit yourself,” she replied and took another sip.

They lapsed into taut silence, awed by the roiling wrath of Hurricane Abby. The racket of howling winds and loud thunder was magnified by what sounded like a train ricocheting back and forth across railroad tracks on the roof of the house. She inched close to Nick until their thighs touched, but he moved and put distance between them.

A loud rumble followed by falling debris made Veronique grab the flashlight on the floor and turn it on. Astounded, she saw some ceiling plaster had landed directly on top of Nick, covering his hair, face and shoulders in lumpy white powder. His black eyebrows and lashes were comically dusted white as he blinked and sputtered against the plaster covering his lips.

Veronique lost it when she saw the shock on his outraged face. Her laughter agitated Baxter and he jumped around Nick, barking loudly.

“What’s so funny?” Nick asked, brushing the snowy particles off his hair and shoulders.

“You should see yourself,” she said, waving the flashlight in his face. “You look like the abominable snowman and you’ve scared the daylights out of poor Baxter.”

Nick’s scowl softened as he stroked Baxter. “Shh, settle down, Bax.”

The pup’s barking subsided until another loud rumble sent another coating of plaster in Nick’s direction, landing on top of the two of them.

“Shit!” Nick roared, causing Veronique to giggle again.

She took her camera out of her purse and aimed it at him. “Smile,” she said and clicked the picture before Nick could object.

He pulled the camera out of her hands and put it up on the top shelf, out of reach.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. You look hilarious covered in white dust,” she said, fighting chuckles. “I’ll give you a copy.” She kissed his jaw, noting how it clenched under her lips. “Come on, Nick. Give me back my camera. I got some great shots of the cove yesterday.”

She didn’t dare tell him she’d also videotaped his house and the surroundings. When she finally managed to convince him to do an interview, it would make for great visuals to add to his story.

“I won’t take any more pictures.”

“Damn right you won’t. I’ll take the wine too,” he said, grabbing it from her hand. He set Baxter down and headed toward the door.

Veronique’s ringing cell phone caught her attention. She dug inside her purse to locate it.

“Hello?” Bits of static and garbled words met her greeting. “Hello,” she repeated.

“Ronnie, it’s Natasha.” As a favor, Natasha had agreed to stay at her New York studio apartment and cat sit while Veronique was in Florida covering the hurricane.

“Hey, Tash. How’s my little Slinky?” Veronique asked, missing her fur baby.

“I’m sorry to call this late, but something horrible has happened,” Natasha said, sounding terribly distressed.

An ominous tremor wracked Veronique’s suddenly chilled body. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Static broke up and muffled Natasha’s response.

“What did you say?” Veronique asked frantically. The receiver went dead in her hand. She jumped to her feet and started pounding Natasha’s number on her cell phone, but couldn’t get reception.

“There’s no signal! Why won’t it connect?” She tried again, cursing under her breath.

“Who was that?” Nick asked.

“Natasha White. You remember her from camp, don’t you?”

“Yeah, the actress. You still keep in touch?”