His Stolen Bride (Chicago Sons) (5 page)

“Vern’s infidelity.”

“Vern wasn’t unfaithful.”

Jackson smirked. “Right. And you never kissed me too.”

Crista wasn’t about to lie again. “Just tell me what you want. Whatever is going on here, let’s please get this over with so I can go home.”

“I want you to wait here with me while I find out exactly what your husband-to-be has been up to with Gracie.”

“Gracie’s a business acquaintance.” Crista immediately realized her slipup.

Jackson caught it, too. “So, you do know her.”

Crista wasn’t about to renew the debate. She knew what she knew, and she trusted Vern.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked Jackson again.

“So you can decide whether or not you want to marry him.”

“I
do
want to marry him.”

His gaze slipped downward, and she realized her grip on her dress had relaxed. She was showing cleavage—a lot of cleavage. She quickly adjusted.

“Maybe,” he said softly.

“There’s no maybe about it.”

“What’s the harm in waiting?” he asked, sounding sincere. “The wedding’s already ruined.”

“Thanks to you.”

“My point is there’s no harm in waiting a few more hours.”

“Except for my frantic fiancé.”

Jackson seemed to think for a moment. “I can have someone call him, tell him you’re okay.”

“From a pay phone?” she mocked.

“Who uses pay phones? We’ve got plenty of burner phones.”

“Of course you do.”

“You want me to call?”

“Yes!” But then she thought about it. “No. Hang on. What are you going to tell him?”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“The truth.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“Then tell him I’m okay. Tell him something unexpected came up. I’m…uh…” She bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t know. Other than the truth, what can I possibly say that doesn’t sound terrible?”

“You got me.”

“He’ll think I got cold feet.”

“He might.”

“No, he won’t.” She shook her head firmly. Vern knew her better than that. He knew she was committed to their marriage.

But Jackson would never send a message that incriminated himself. And anything else could make it sound like it had been her decision to run off. Maybe it was better to keep silent.

“How long do you think this will take?” she asked. “To clear Vern’s name?”

Jackson gave a shrug. “It could go pretty fast. My guys are good.”

Crista rose to her feet. “Then don’t call him. I’m going to change.”

“Good idea.”

“It doesn’t mean I’ve capitulated.”

“I took it to mean you wanted to be dry.”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“Okay,” he agreed easily.

She turned away from his smug expression, gripping the front of her ruined wedding dress, struggling to hold on to some dignity as she made her way into the bathroom. She could feel his gaze on her back, taking in the expanse of bare skin. He knew she wasn’t wearing a bra, and he could probably see the white lace at the top of her panties.

A rush of heat coursed through her. She told herself it was anger. She didn’t care where he looked, or what he thought. It was the last he’d see of her that was remotely intimate.

CHAPTER THREE

J
ackson recognized Mac’s number and put his phone to his ear. “Find something?”

“Norway talked to the girl,” said Mac.

“Did she admit to the affair?”

“She says there’s nothing between them. But she’s lying. And she’s doing it badly. Norway got thirty seconds alone with her phone and grabbed some photos.”

That was encouraging. “Anything incriminating?”

“No nudity, but they do look intimate. Gerhard’s got an arm around her shoulders, and his expression says he slept with her. We’re combing through social media now.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

“How are things at your end?”

Crista emerged from the bathroom. Her hair was still wet but combed straight. She’d washed her face, and she was dressed in Jackson’s white and maroon U of Chicago soccer jersey. It hung nearly to her knees, which were bare, as were her calves.

“Pants didn’t fit?” he asked.

“Huh?” asked Mac.

“Fell off,” she said.

“Stay safe,” Jackson said to Mac, setting down his phone.

“Who’s that?” asked Crista, moving to the sofa. She took the end opposite to Jackson and tucked the hem of the jersey over her knees.

“Mac.”

“He works for your agency?”

“He does.”

She nodded. She looked curious but stayed silent.

“Are you afraid to ask?” he guessed.

She flicked back her damp hair. “I’m not afraid to ask anything.”

“They found some pictures of Vern and Gracie.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“They’re not specifically incriminating—”

“I know they’re not.”

“But they are suggestive of more than a business relationship.”

“If suggestive is all you’ve got, then let me go.”

“It’s all we’ve got
so far
.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve only been chasing this lead for five hours.”

She heaved an exaggerated sigh.

“You hungry?” he asked.

He was, and he doubted brides were inclined to eat heartily before their weddings.

“No,” she said.

“You really need to stop lying.”

“
You’re
criticizing
my
behavior?”

“You’re not going to help anything by starving.”

He rose, taking the few steps to the small kitchen and popping open a high cupboard.

“You’re not going to make me like you,” she said from behind him.

“Why would I want to make you like me?”

He wanted to convince her not to marry Vern. No, scratch that. He couldn’t care less if she married Vern. No, scratch that, too. Vern didn’t deserve her. If Jackson was sure of one thing in all this, it was that Vern didn’t deserve a woman like Crista.

“To make me more docile and easy to manipulate.”

Jackson located a stray bag of tortilla chips. “Docile? You? Are you kidding me?”

Her tone turned defensive. “I’m really quite easy to get along with. I mean, under normal circumstances.”

He also found a jar of salsa. It wasn’t much, but it would keep them from starving. If they were lucky, they’d find a few cans of beer in the mini fridge.

He turned back.

She froze, her expression a study in guilt, his phone pressed to her ear.

He swore, dropping the food, taking two swift steps to grab it from her. How could he have made such an idiotic mistake?

“Nine-one-one operator,” came a female voice through the phone. “What is your emergency?”

He hit the end button. “What did you do?”

“Tried to get help.” Her words were bold, but she shrank back against the sofa.

Jackson hit the speed dial for Mac.

“Yeah?” Mac answered immediately.

“I have to move. This phone is compromised. Tuck’s dock, zero eight hundred.”

“Roger that,” said Mac.

Jackson pushed open a window and tossed the phone overboard.

“That was stupid,” he said to Crista.

“I was trying to escape. How was that stupid?”

“
You
were reckless.
I
was stupid.”

He grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet.

“Hey,” she cried.

“Listen, I’m still not going to hurt you, but you had no way of knowing that for sure. I could have been a vengeful jerk.” He tugged her to the bridge, holding fast to her upper arm while he started the engine and engaged the anchor winch.

Her tone turned mulish. “I had to try.”

“I shouldn’t have given you the chance.”

“You let your guard down.”

“I did. And that was stupid.”

Not to mention completely unprofessional. He wasn’t sure what had distracted him. Their kiss? Her legs? The sight of her in his jersey?

He’d have to worry about it later. Right now, he couldn’t take a chance on an overzealous 911 operator tracing their location. Anchor up, he opened the throttle, and they surged forward.

She swayed, but he held her steady.

“You were trying to be nice,” she said.

He struggled not to laugh at that. “You’re trying to make me feel better about being stupid?”

“I’m saying… I’m not unappreciative of you offering me something to eat.”

“Well, I’m definitely unappreciative of you compromising our location.”

He set a course north along the coastline. His friend Tuck Tucker owned a beach house north of the city. Tuck wouldn’t mind Jackson using his dock. He might mind the kidnapping part, but Jackson didn’t plan to mention that. And if Mac and the others didn’t come through with proof positive by morning, Tuck’s reaction would be the least of Jackson’s worries.

“Where are we going?” Crista asked.

Jackson did chuckle at that. “Yeah, sure. I’m going to tell you.”

“It’s not like we still have a phone.” As she spoke, her gaze flicked to the radio.

“I’ll be disconnecting the battery to that long before I take my eyes off you,” he told her.

“What are you talking about?”

“You just looked at the radio. You might as well be wearing a neon sign that says it’s your next move.”

She drew an exasperated sigh and shifted her feet.

“You probably don’t want to consider a life of crime,” he said.

She lifted her chin and gave her damp hair a little toss. “I’m surprised you did.”

“It’s been a surprising day.”

“Not exactly what I expected, either.”

He’d have to hand her the win on that one.

He switched screens on the GPS, orienting himself to the shoreline.

“I’m hoping you’ll thank me later,” he said.

“Hoping? You don’t seem as confident as before.”

“The stakes just keep getting higher and higher. Now we’re headed for the state line.”

Her attention swung from the windshield to him. “You’re taking me to
Wisconsin
?”

“What’s wrong with Wisconsin?”

“It’s a long way from Chicago. Why are you taking me there? What’s happening?” She struggled to get away from him.

He regretted frightening her again. They weren’t really going all the way to Wisconsin.

“I didn’t plan to grab you today,” he told her. “I was only there to get a look at Gerhard.”

“Why?”

“To take his measure.”

“I mean why do you care about us at all?”

“It’s a job.”

“Who hired you?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters to you is that your fiancé is already having an affair. You can’t marry a man like that.” Jackson wasn’t ready to tell her more. Mention of her father would likely alienate her further. He didn’t yet have proof of Trent’s accusations. And if she was having trouble accepting that Vern would cheat, she’d never believe he was conning her.

“He’s not like that. I don’t know where you even came up with that idea.”

She’d stopped struggling against his grip, and that was good. Her fear seemed to have been replaced by anger. Jackson’s guilt eased off.

“Wedding guests,” he said, opening the throttle to increase their speed. It was a clear, relatively calm night, thank goodness. They needed to put distance between them and the position where Crista had made the call.

“
My
wedding guests?”

“Technically, I would say they were Vern’s wedding guests. They seemed to know him, and they were joking about his relationship with Gracie. I realized I couldn’t in good conscience let you marry him, so I took the opportunity and grabbed you.”

She was silent for a moment. “So this isn’t so much crime as altruism.”

“Yes. The easiest thing for me would have been to walk away.”

“You can still walk away.”

“We’re on a boat.”

“Swim away, then. Or drop me off onshore and drive away—motor away? Float away? What do you call it?”

“Navigate away. And no, I’m not dropping you off onshore.” He made a show of looking her up and down, enjoying the view far too much. “You’re not dressed, for one thing.”

“I’ll put my wedding dress back on. It might be uncomfortable, but it’s better than staying here.”

“I’d get thrown in jail,” he said.

“Darn right. But that’s going to happen anyway.”

“Not for a few hours.” And hopefully not ever, although Jackson’s worry factor was steadily rising.

“How long until we get there?” she asked.

“Get where?”

“To the secret location, wherever it is you’re taking me. How long until we stop navigating?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m hungry.”

“Oh, now you’re hungry. Well, you’re going to have to wait.”

“I can eat while you navigate.”

“I’m not letting go of you.”

“I’m not going to jump.”

“That’s what I thought last time.”

“We’re way too far from shore.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure you’ve got another brilliant plan in mind already. Sabotage the engine, harpoon me from behind.”

“You have harpoons on board?”

“Give me strength,” he muttered.

She leaned close to him. “Am I annoying you? Frustrating you?”

“Yes on both counts.”

Her argumentative nature was annoying, but his frustration came from a whole other place. She was stimulating and exciting. She was a beautiful, feisty, apparently complex and intelligent woman, and he was battling hard against his sexual attraction to her. He didn’t want to be rushing from a crime scene with her as his captive, contemplating the best way to stay out of jail. He wanted to be on a date with her, somewhere great in the city, contemplating how best to get her into his bed.

“There’s a simple solution,” she told him.

It took a second for him to get his brain back on track. “Let you go?” he guessed.

“Bingo.”

“Not until we meet up with Mac tomorrow.”

“You’ll let me go then?”

He knew he was being cornered, but there really was no choice. He could only hope Mac could come up with definitive proof by morning.

“Yes,” said Jackson.

Crista’s mouth curved into a dazzling smile. They hit a swell, and she pressed against him. Her curves were soft, and her scent was fresh. For a moment the risk of jail seemed almost worth it.

* * *

When Crista awoke, she was disoriented. It took a few seconds to realize the warm body beside her wasn’t Vern. She was in bed with someone bigger, harder, with a deeper breathing pattern and an earthier scent. And the bed was moving beneath them.

Then reality came back in a rush. Long after midnight, she’d given in and laid down on the bed in the bow of Jackson’s boat. He was still up, and she’d hugged one edge of the massive, triangular shape in case he decided to join her. At some point he obviously had, and in her sleep she must have moved to the middle.

Now she was cradled by his strong arm, hers thrown across his chest. And her leg…uh-oh. Her leg was draped across his thighs. The jersey had ridden up to her waist. Luckily, he was wearing sweatpants. Otherwise, there’d be nothing between them but the lacy silk of her white panties.

She knew she should move. She had to move. And she needed to do it before he woke up and caught her in such a revealing position. Now that she thought about it, she should have recoiled from him the second she was conscious.

Staying put like this was bad. The fact that she liked it was even worse. She was an engaged woman. She was all but married. She had absolutely no business enjoying the intimate embrace of another man, no matter how fit his body, no matter how handsome his face and no matter how sexy his warm palm felt against her hip.

It was all she could do not to groan out loud.

Jackson moved and she drew a sharp breath.

“Hey, there,” he whispered lazily in her ear, obviously only half-awake himself, obviously believing she was someone else.

Then he kissed her hairline.

“I—” she began. But he kissed her mouth. And his arms closed around her.

Before she could gather her wits enough to struggle, the kiss deepened. A fog of desire invaded her brain, blocking out the real world.

He was one fantastic kisser.

His hand slipped down to cradle her rear. Pulling her to him, his thigh wedged between her legs. Arousal fanned through her, hot, heavy and demanding.

She had to make this stop. She so had to shut this down.

“Jackson,” she gasped. “I’m not your date. Wake up. It’s me. It’s Crista.”

“I know.” He drew back, gazing at her with dark eyes. “I know who you are.”

“But—”

“And you know I’m not Gerhard.”

She wanted to deny it. She desperately wanted to lie and say that, of course, she’d thought he was her fiancé. What kind of a woman would behave like this with another man? But she couldn’t bring herself to lie, not with his sharp stare only inches away, and their hearts beating together.

“I was confused,” she replied instead.

He answered with a knowing smile. “Confused about what?”

“Who you were.”

He shook his head. “Crista, Crista. There’s no real harm in not being truthful with me. But I hope you’re being honest with yourself.”

“I am being honest with myself.”

“You claim you love Gerhard, yet you’re in bed with a stranger.”

“I’m not in bed with you.” She immediately realized how ridiculous the protest sounded. “I mean, not like that. We didn’t… We aren’t…”

He glanced down between them, noting without words that they were in each other’s arms.