Laws of Attraction (2 page)

“I don’t … make promises … I can’t keep.”

Only the fact that McQuade was weak as a newborn sublimated Mia’s screaming panic while she parted his shirtfront and eased the garment off those solid, imposing shoulders. No blood had seeped through the bandage. One relief.

She removed his boots and socks, studiously avoiding his gaze as her quivering fingers brushed the soft treasure-trail of dark hair around his navel before fumbling with the waistband of his Levi’s. Naturally, the man
would
choose button fly. Unfastening the wet denim button by stubborn button took way too long … and was jarringly intimate.

“Lift your hips.”
Crap
, her voice was shakier than her hands.

She tugged down his pants, awkward at the unfamiliar task. Mia’s gaze cruised up the length of Dallas’ sinewed calves and solid thighs, and her belly clenched. He had on tight black boxer briefs … and even cold as he was, that package was one awesome special delivery.

She’d hit her limit. Wearing damp skivvies wouldn’t kill the guy. She got up and snatched pillows and worn, red plaid blankets from where she’d dumped them off the bunk mattress, then covered him. His teeth were chattering and his violent shivers had returned.
An improvement or a setback
? “How do you feel?”

“B-been w-worse. Y-you’re soaked, t-too. T-trembling. S-should und-dress.”

Too much of her unsteadiness had nothing to do with the cold. But she wasn’t about to admit it. “Stay awake. I’m going to brew something hot to drink.”

“Mia.” His glance caressed her. “I w-won’t hurt y-ou.”

As crazy as it seemed, she sensed she’d be safe with him. Mia touched the lump in her pocket that was the canister of pepper spray. Besides, she could handle herself, and the testosterone rodeo. She was proficient in self-defense. Armed with the wisdom of hindsight.

She’d never again be vulnerable to an ambush.

She strode to the kitchenette, rummaged through cupboards. “Dallas is an unusual name.”

“My t-three sisters, Victoria, C-Christie and Tyler-Anne, w-were also named after Texas t-towns.”

Against her will, her attention gravitated back to his virile pirate’s face. “Good thing your parents never visited Amarillo.”

He laughed hoarsely, his mischievous white smile a startling contrast with the dusky stubble on his cheeks and chin. The ruby in his earlobe twinkled in the firelight. “O-or Waxahachie.”

The shanty didn’t boast a fridge, stove, or any electricity. Mia located a pan, stirred canned chicken noodle soup into tap water, then carried it to the fireplace and set it in the glowing embers.

The sky blackened, the temperature dropped. Wind and sleet howled through the broken window. Using an unopened can of soup as a hammer, she nailed the blankets from her car over the breach with barbed fishhooks from a tackle box. Her limbs ached with numbness by the time she’d finished, her shivers as fierce as his.

She tottered to Dallas carrying a mug of steaming soup, her tremors sloshing it over the rim. He scowled. “Y-you don’t s-strike me as a stupid woman.”

She fed him another wobbly sip. “Perceptive of you.”

“Then y-ou know as w-well as I do … you n-need to shuck your wet c-clothes and get into bed with me.”

She jerked, barely avoided spilling the broth down his chest. “No.”

“Admit it. W-we’re colder t-than brass monkeys. H-hypothermia wipes
y-you
out, then what happens t-to both of us?”

His argument made an awful kind of sense. But the idea iced her blood colder than the sleet. He stayed silent, letting her decide while she fed him the rest of the soup.

Mia rescued her bulky purse from the car and set it on the metal folding table in the kitchenette. She fixed herself a mug of soup she didn’t want, then drank it. Mostly to postpone the inevitable.

She stoked the fire. Dragged the camping chair near it to hang up Dallas’ clothes while chills wracked her.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip.
You know what you have to do
. It was practical. Necessary for survival.

She’d survived much worse.

Nevertheless, trepidation crawled up her backbone as she drew her wet turtleneck over her head … with Dallas’ warm sea-god eyes watching every move. Mia clumsily toed out of her boots and socks. Unzipped her damp jeans. Like ripping off a bandage, she yanked them down and off. She quickly hung her pants beside his. Hiding the can of pepper spray in one hand, she turned and raised the blanket with the other.

Mirth danced through Dallas’ gaze and a smile flirted around his mouth. He chuckled.

He was
laughing
at her? Humiliated, Mia crossed defensive arms over her not-so-ample breasts. She looked down.

Oh.

She was wearing her Bugs Bunny “What’s up, Doc?” panties and complementing demi-bra printed with tiny carrots. An early birthday gift from Valerie.

The humorous moment helped ease the thick tension as she slipped beneath the covers with him.

They lay face-to-face, gazes linked in the flickering firelight. She tucked the canister beneath her pillow as she breathed in Dallas’ scent … warm man and subtle, earthy pine. His languid smile slid across his mouth, flooding her veins with lava. Damn, the erotic images his scrumptious lips conjured up …

Get a grip, Mia
!

She did
not
need a man. Not now, not ever. She would never give up her independence for some guy, and lose herself.

Already too cynical for her years at age six, with both her heart and her body broken, Mia had vowed never to fall in love. So far, she’d managed to keep that promise with no hassles from Cupid. And the little imp with the bow and arrows had better stay away, or she’d drop-kick his diapered butt right back to Olympus.

Besides,
nothing
was going to sidetrack her fight for redemption. Especially not a yummy hunk of man candy.

A steely forearm encircled her waist, urged her nearer, and she stiffened. Dallas’ palm stroked her rigid spine. “Easy, darlin’. You’re gonna have to come closer to share body heat. I won’t bite.” He winked. “Unless you ask me to.”

She gritted her teeth. “If you have any desire to father children in the future, you’d better keep your hands—and your fantasies—under control.”

A deep chuckle vibrated his chest, now far too close for comfort. “You know, you remind me of a hunting hound I used to have.”

“Gee, thanks. You really know how to wow a girl.”

“Named her Dirty Harriet, after Eastwood.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“She was the snappiest critter in three counties. Couldn’t get near her without getting bit. But once I’d earned her trust, she—”

“Fetched your slippers and gazed up adoringly from between your feet?”

“Harriet became my best friend. And my most loyal companion.”

“Sorry to disappoint, cowboy. I flunked obedience school.”

“Why am
I
not surprised?” He continued to rub her back in slow, soothing strokes. “You’re safe. Trust me, Mia. Go to sleep.”

The wind’s gnashing teeth grabbed the cabin and shook it, rattling boards and shingles. But the storm outside was trivial compared to the emotional typhoon whirling inside her.

Buffeted by the confusing tempest of attraction and wariness, Mia studied the intriguing man in her bed.

She’d give Dallas McQuade temporary shelter. Give him her body heat. Give him transport to the city tomorrow.

But she wasn’t about to give
anybody
her trust.

* * *

When dawn’s watery gray light crept through the windows, Dallas snapped to awareness with stiff muscles, throbbing ribs … and a raging boner.

He was wrapped around a warm, curvy woman who smelled enticingly like his family’s rose garden in Tyler, Texas. A surge of desire detonated inside him, and he blinked away the sensual daze.

Hellfire
. He’d thought his libido had perished along with his other emotions. Now was a fine time for it to rise from the dead and distract him—when he was finally in position to settle the long overdue score.

The sexy little Samaritan was a complication he hadn’t expected. A wild card in the lethal long-con he was running. No problem, he could bluff with the best. In his line of work, a player who couldn’t think on his feet had a short life expectancy.

But all things considered, he preferred chess, where he could strategically plan every move to his advantage.

Mia’s delicate heart-shaped face had a pixie’s impish smile, but the eyes of an old soul—someone on intimate terms with pain. Her appearance so close to the scene of the latest assassination attempt on his new boss
might
be a coincidence.

His chest tightened. He’d learned—the worst way possible—that life rarely slotted into neat coincidences.

Mia stirring against him scattered his thoughts before they could wind down the familiar torturous path. Her silky thigh glided along his, her soft cotton panties brushing his hard-on. His dick twitched in response, and she jolted. Her eyelids shot open, instant terror striking her lovely features.

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He was well aware she’d slept clutching a canister of mace. Someone had mistreated Mia very badly.

“Morning.” Dallas offered a reassuring smile as he eased back to give her space. Those wide, deep amber eyes caught and held him spellbound. Intoxicating. Beguiling. Tempting a man to drink her up in one long swallow, until he forgot all the sorrow. Forgot the pain.

He licked his lower lip, almost imagining he could taste her there. “Your eyes are the exact color of Southern Comfort.”

She scrambled out of bed like the blankets were on fire. “I’m leaving in ten minutes.” Her voice was husky with fatigue … and fear. “If you’re not ready, you can thumb it home.” Then she stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Dallas wanted to kick his own ass clear back to Portland.
Why the fuck had he blurted that
?
Smooth, McQuade
.

He got up as fast as his injuries allowed—and headed straight for Mia’s bulging purse.

Expensive, professional field glasses. Digital camera with a zoom lens, and dozens of pictures of a certain ski lodge he recognized. A long-distance listening device disguised as a laser pointer. Small notebook detailing way too much of Esteban Montoya’s personal information and whereabouts the past few weeks.
Interesting
. Dallas frowned. If he searched her car, would he find guns and ammo? Explosives?

He’d already nearly bought the farm on this new job protecting Montoya from an unknown assassin, and he wanted answers.

The driver’s license was issued to Mia Elaine Linden. He noted her last name and memorized the license number and address. One credit card, debit card, library card, discount warehouse membership. No social security number, but he could find that easily enough and run a thorough background check when he reached the city. Dallas quickly assessed the remaining contents. Nothing but the usual female paraphernalia. The lone prescription was a plastic compact containing birth-control pills.

For inexplicable reasons he didn’t care to question, the image of his sloe-eyed rescuer cuddled up with another man made the chilled ache return … and he felt more alone than ever.

Do not go there
.

He limped to the fireplace and laboriously dressed, remembering the long-ago morning he’d stabbed a needle through his left earlobe, wiped away the blood and thrust in the antique ruby. The sting in his ear had been minor compared to the agony in his heart.

Even after all this time, not a day went by without acid failure gnawing at his guts. Not a night passed that he didn’t climb from his sleepless bed to pour his anguish into hours of mind-numbing Jeet Kune Do. He rolled his shoulders, relishing the sharp stab of discomfort in his ribs.

Stay on target
.

If everything went according to plan, his ten years on the warpath would pay off soon. Very soon.

Dallas clenched his jaw. And if Mia Linden got in his way … he’d just have to deal with her.

Six days later, Mia propped her hip against the lighted-mirror in the dressing room of the
Pegasus
nightclub and watched her best friend since first grade prepare to go on stage. Valerie Willis sang at the elegant club nearly every weekend. They hadn’t had a chance to catch up yet because Val was taking extra shifts as a 911 dispatcher for her day job, and when Mia wasn’t working her temporary job at the local fish cannery, she’d been on recon nearly 24/7.

“So after I came out of the bathroom at the cabin dressed and ready to go,” Mia continued, “McQuade got all inscrutable. Didn’t say two words the entire way back to Portland. He had me drop him off at the corner of Fifth and Main. I tried to follow him, but he poofed.”

Valerie stopped in mid-application of coral lipstick, eyes dark with horror. “I can’t believe you picked up a hitchhiker. He could have been mental. Or on drugs.” She shuddered. “Think about what might’ve happened to you.”

Mia shrugged. She’d already survived the merry-go-round to Hell and back. “He was injured, what else was I supposed to do? I
am
a black belt, and he seemed fairly decent. Other than he sort of made a pass at me when he woke up,” she added darkly.

She didn’t mention the fact that she’d been intrigued and aroused … or the continuing erotic dreams featuring Dallas McQuade that had her waking up flushed and aching. Why couldn’t she exorcise the annoying, sexy cowboy from her thoughts?

“You should be used to getting hit-on by now. Blatant disinterest is a challenge the Y chromosome can’t resist.”

“I guess.” Mia rubbed a blotch of face powder from the vanity top. Even the woman who was like a sister to her didn’t know the real reasons she kept men at arm’s length. Mia had learned early to hide her vulnerabilities. Though she cared about Val more than anyone, she couldn’t bring herself to expose her personal demons.

Frowning, Valerie resumed slicking on her lipstick. “Do you think Dallas is in league with your former boss and/or Esteban Montoya?”