Lethal Consequences (10 page)

Relief was as sweet as wine.

As Landon rounded the corner in the small village and spotted Olivia slinked down behind a hedge, her blonde hair picking up the rays of moonlight, his heart rolled in his chest.

She could have run. As soon as they’d reached the next village, she could have beat feet and taken off without him. But she hadn’t.

After they’d ditched the Kubota in a ravine and covered it in brush, then hiked the mile toward the small town, he’d left her behind this hedge while he’d taken a quick glance around to get the lay of the land. Part of him had expected her to be long gone by the time he came back, but another part—a bigger part—was so relieved that she was waiting for him, he almost couldn’t breathe.

“Did you find it?” she whispered as he drew close.

He nodded, fighting back the need to pull her close. “Yeah. Three blocks down. No alarm system.”

They’d discussed their options on the way here. They needed food, water, and warm clothes, if nothing else. Olivia had lost her sweater back at the compound, and though Landon had offered her his shirt, she wouldn’t take it, saying he needed it more than her. She wasn’t saying so, but he knew she was cold, and since he couldn’t put his arms around her and warm her with his body heat, finding another alternative was their only option.

They moved quietly through the empty, dark streets until they came to the back of the shop he’d scouted earlier. Judging by the position of the moon, it had to be close to three a.m. Landon pulled the screwdriver from his pocket and went to work on the lock on the back door.

“Where did you get that?” Olivia whispered. Close, but not close enough.

He jimmied the lock. “From a toolbox under the seat in the ATV.”

“Lucky,” she whispered, turning to scan the area. Lights shone over the cobblestone street, but they were few and far between. “So interesting. There are murals and phrases written all over the buildings. But I can’t read them. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Landon jerked up on the screwdriver, and the entire lock mechanism broke free. “That’s because they’re in Italian. They’re political murals. They date back to the sixties.”

Olivia turned to face him. “Italian? How do you know?”

“Because I recognize them.” He rose to his feet, turned the knob, and shoved the door open for her. “We’re on the island of Sardinia. The village of Orgosolo is famous for its political murals. As soon as I saw them, I knew where we were. I figured they couldn’t have taken us too far from Barcelona.”

Olivia moved into the dark store while he closed the door behind them. “I’ve never been to Italy before.”

“Hopefully you won’t be coming back.” If it were up to him, he’d keep her tied up in her house in Boise.

Pushing that thought aside—and the little fantasies it sparked—he handed her a small plastic bag from the table to his right, then said, “Fan out and find what you need. I want to be in and out before anyone notices.”

It was a small all-purpose shop, with some groceries, a few clothing items, and knickknacky tourist items. Landon immediately moved for the clothing and pawed through the stacks of sweatshirts until he found a couple that looked like they’d fit. He grabbed a small blanket, stuffed a couple bottles of water in his bag, and was just reaching for a box of crackers when he heard the low growl.

His hand froze on the shelf, and he turned his head slowly, until his gaze rested on the snarling German shepherd focused directly on him.

Shit. He hadn’t thought to check for a dog. Hadn’t even crossed his ever-lovin’ mind.

“Um, Olivia?” Eyes pinned on the dog, he took one slow step backward, toward the door. “We need to go.”

“Oh, what a cute puppy,” Olivia’s singsong voice echoed through the small store. “I bet we scared you, didn’t we?”

She was moving toward the beast, not away from it. Landon’s nerves shot into the stratosphere. “Olivia, get back.”

“You’re not a mean dog, are you?” she said in that same sweet voice, continuing to inch forward instead of back. “You’re just misunderstood. Yeah, I bet people just don’t give you a chance, do they?”

She held her hand out so the dog could sniff her. Every muscle in Landon’s body tensed, ready to pull her back. Goddamn, but the woman never did anything he told her. “Olivia—”

“Gentle,” Olivia said, continuing to hold out her hand and move even closer.

The dog sniffed several times, and Landon had a flash of the beast’s teeth clamping around her slim hand, of the dog ripping it from her arm, of blood and screams filling the quiet space. And just when he thought it was about to happen, the dog closed its lips, then sat back on its haunches and whimpered.

Olivia’s hand landed on his head, and she smoothed her fingers down the ruffled fur of his neck. “That’s it. What a good dog you are. Yes, you are.”

Air slowly refilled Landon’s lungs. His hands shook. He flexed his fingers against the bottles to try to settle his raging pulse. “No way that just happened.”

Olivia ran another hand down the dog’s back and smiled. A beaming, beautiful grin that lit up her entire face. One he hadn’t seen since he’d opened his hotel door and found her standing on the other side.

“Everyone just needs to know someone cares. Isn’t that right”—she reached for the collar around the dog’s neck and read his tag—“Rex? Yes, you’re a good dog,” she added, ruffling his ears. “Aren’t you, Rex?”

Breathing easier, Landon stepped out from behind the shelf. “Olivia, I don’t think—”

Rex lurched to his feet, barking and growling. Olivia startled but placed a hand on Rex’s head, trying to soothe him. “It’s okay, boy.” To Landon, she said, “Maybe you should just leave. I’ll meet you outside in a second.”

Leave her alone inside with that beast? No way in hell.

“Just go,” Olivia said when he hesitated. “Dogs like me. At least more than they obviously like you. I’m fine.”

She wasn’t fine. But when he took another step toward her and the dog lurched forward again, jaws snapping, Landon jerked back. Every instinct he had screamed not to abandon her.

“Go,” she said, stronger, still continuing to pet Rex’s head. “If you don’t, neither one of us is getting out of here.”

Reluctantly, Landon backed out of the store. But outside his nerves were shot. He glanced through the window in the small back door. Olivia was still petting the freakin’ dog and talking nonsense to it like it was a long-lost family pet, not Cujo looking for a meal.

He tugged on the navy sweatshirt, uncapped a bottle of water, and downed the whole thing, but his hands continued to shake. Another look back confirmed he couldn’t see her anymore. His nerves shot up even higher.

Enough was enough. Crushing the plastic bottle in his hand, he tossed it at his feet and reached for the door handle, determined to drag her out this time if he had to, even if he lost an arm.

The door opened beside him just as he turned the handle. “Everything’s good.” Olivia stepped out and quietly closed the door at her back. “Rex went back to bed. He—”

Landon’s heart felt like it was about to explode. He pushed her against the brick wall before he thought better of it. Her eyes grew wide, and her hand landed at his chest, but he didn’t care. He closed his mouth over hers in a hot, swift, punishing kiss that echoed all the way to his toes.

Her mouth opened in shock, and her hand flexed against his chest to push him away—definitely to push him away—but he didn’t budge. The woman was making him crazy, showing up unannounced, getting taken and then nearly killed, not listening when he told her to run, putting herself between him and a vicious animal. What the
hell
was she thinking?

He swept his tongue along hers, tasted the surprise and heat in her sinful mouth, and forced himself to break away long before he was ready. “Don’t. Ever. Do that. Again. I don’t care if you’re a freakin’ dog whisperer. That was stupid.”

“Excuse me?” Her hand curled into a fist in his shirt, and her eyes widened, this time not from shock but disbelief. “Don’t do what again? Save you?”

“Ignore me. That guard dog was dangerous, and you know it.”

“I’m well aware of that. He thought you looked like lunch.”

“Olivia—”

“No. I’m not going to do everything you want me to do at the moment you want me to do it. I’m not a child.”

“I know you aren’t.” It was all he could do not to look down at her heaving breasts, pushing at her dusty white tank. Did she really think he saw her as a child? God Almighty. He saw her as anything but. “That doesn’t mean you know what the fuck you’re doing, though.”

She blanched. She didn’t like swearing. She’d told him once it was because the terrorists who’d grabbed her in Seattle had cussed nonstop. Usually he tried to censor himself around her, but tonight he was way past caring. She’d pushed him one step too far, and she needed to know he had boundaries.

Her eyes narrowed. “And just because I’m still with you doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing either.” She moved out from beneath his arm and reached for the sweatshirt he’d dropped on the ground before he could drag her back. “Is this mine?”

Son of a bitch
. The woman was playing head games with him. She had every reason to be afraid of him, but wasn’t. Every reason to back down when he got aggressive, but didn’t. Each time something happened and he expected her to react one way, she did the complete opposite, which didn’t just leave him frazzled, it left his head spinning to the point he was pretty sure it might twirl right off his shoulders if he wasn’t careful.

He turned, giving her plenty of room, wanting to shake some sense into her. Wanting, more than anything, to kiss her again until that sense resonated in his head too. “Yeah.”

She tugged on the sweatshirt and zipped the front all the way to the top, looking cuter than she had any right to look in the drab brown hoodie, especially now, when he was ticked at her. “Where to now?”

Jaw clenching, he forced himself to look away from her pouty, kiss-me lips and scanned the street. They had several hours before anyone awoke. He’d hoped to use the phone in the store, but he wasn’t going back in there now with Cujo on the prowl. That meant finding a place to hide out and rest until morning when the other businesses opened. “I saw a barn when we first came into town.”

“Like with cows and horses?”

“Like with hay and a loft where no one can see us.”

Olivia considered for a moment. “I guess that will work. But as soon as we get there, you have to let me bandage your arm.”

Landon pushed past her, heading for the sidewalk that led back the way they’d come, wanting to put some space between them. “I told you it’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine for you,” she snapped, following. “But I’ll feel better once I know it’s cleaned and bandaged. The last thing I need is for you to get sepsis and die. Contrary to what you want, I still need you. At least a little while longer.”

Landon’s chest tightened unexpectedly. Even though he was ticked at her, even though he had no right being anywhere near her, he knew a little while was never going to be long enough. Not for him. But common sense rang out strong, like always. If that kiss wasn’t proof he was losing his freaking mind around her, nothing was.

The safest place for Olivia Wolfe was as far away from him as she could get.

O
livia followed Landon up the creaky wooden ladder and into the loft of the small barn on the outskirts of Orgosolo. A thin layer of hay lay scattered over the decking, and a window on the far wall opened to a view of the hills and mountains beyond.

It was still dark outside, but the moon was in the process of setting, which meant in a few minutes it would be pitch-black in here.

Landon dropped his bag on the closest bale of hay, pulled out a blanket she hadn’t seen him pick up in that store, laid it out over the hay scattered along the decking, and then settled onto it, his back pressed up against the wall. He hadn’t said much to her on the walk here, and Olivia couldn’t quite tell if he was still mad at her, in pain, or if he was reeling from that kiss—as she was.

Her lips tingled all over again, and an ache lit off deep in her belly. He’d completely shocked her with that—grabbing her, pressing her up against the brick wall, closing in at her front and taking without asking. But she’d liked it. Liked it even though she should have been pissed. Oh, pa
rt of her was, but another part, a more demanding part, was turned on. And even now, just thinking about that kiss that had rocked the ground beneath her feet made every muscle in her body quiver with the need for him to do it again.

Stupid. She was obviously still in shock from everything that had happened. Not thinking clearly. Not playing with a full deck. Sex should be the last thing on her mind—especially with the highly trained killer at her front—but suddenly it was all she could think about.

“Okay,” he said, closing his eyes as he tugged off his sweatshirt and leaned his head back against the wall. “Get this over with.”

She bit back a groan. He hadn’t meant for that to sound sexy—no way in hell it should sound sexy—but it did. Her muscles tightened, and that ache spread lower, between her legs where she knew only one way to stop it.

Breathe. Think about the people chasing you. Think about the things he did to those guards. Think about the fact he was in that hotel room with another woman.

Adrenaline pulsed in her veins, and her heart rate picked up speed. Yeah, he might have been in that hotel room with
Chantal
, but he was with
her
now. And he hadn’t kissed Chantal—at least that Olivia had seen. He’d kissed
her
. Twice.

She lowered the supplies to the edge of the blanket and then knelt on his left side, her stomach alive with indecision, her body quivering with heat and a need she knew she should squash but suddenly didn’t want to. She wasn’t stupid enough to think he would have called his little tryst with Chantal quits if Olivia hadn’t shown up, but right now she really didn’t care.

She untied the fabric he’d wrapped around his upper arm—fabric she now realized he must have tied to cut the blood flow—and fingered his torn shirt. “You’re going to have take this off. I can’t get at the wound like this.”

“For crying out loud.” A frown pulled at Landon’s brow as he leaned forward and tugged the buttons of his torn shirt free. “This is silly. I’m fine.”

“You’re a grumpy patient is what you are.”

He pulled his left arm from the shirt, leaving the rest of the garment to hang over his torso. Moonlight spilled over his injured arm and strong shoulder, but the rest of his body was way too hidden for her liking.

“No, take the whole thing off,” she said. “I want to make sure you didn’t get shot somewhere else and aren’t telling me.”

He flicked her an irritated look, but it didn’t deter her. If anything, the sexy little frown lines between his eyes heated her belly and spurred her on.

“You’re a drama teacher, Olivia, not a doctor.”

“All teachers have first aid training. You see what kids do to each other these days.”

She helped him pull his shirt the rest of the way off and had to bite her lip to keep from groaning. He was all muscle. Carved, sculpted, sleek muscle under tanned skin. Bruises covered his ribs—bruises she didn’t want to think too much about just now when she was distracted by all that photoshopped goodness.

She’d never been into the buff, bodybuilder-type guys before, but she had to admit, Landon definitely did it for her. Especially now, when she was operating on too much adrenaline and not enough common sense.

Realizing he was watching her, she cleared her throat and looked toward the wound on his upper arm. The dim light made it hard to see, but it was enough. A two-inch-long, one-inch-wide section of skin was completely peeled away from the muscle.

“Oh, right.” She swallowed, fighting back a sudden sickness brewing in her belly. “Yeah. Like that’s nothing.”

He glanced down at the wound with a
so what?
look. “I’ve had worse.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Olivia reached for the first aid supplies she’d picked up at the store and twisted the cap on the hydrogen peroxide. “Men are such macho idiots. Hold still.”

She eased up on her knees, braced one hand on his shoulder to hold him still, and then poured the clear liquid over the wound. It quickly turned white and bubbly. Beneath her hand, Landon tensed, and from the corner of her vision she watched his jaw clench as he breathed through the initial sting.

“Not so macho now, are you?” She poured more hydrogen peroxide over the wound, wanting to get rid of every bit of dirt and grime that she could.

His hand closed into a fist against the blanket at his side. “Stop enjoying this.”

She smiled—she couldn’t help it. Because she
was
enjoying this. Not the hurting him part, but the little bit of control Mr. Macho never gave up. She also liked being close to him. Smelling that sweet male scent. Feeling the heat of his body where his leg brushed hers.

Her head grew light. Her pulse beat faster. Desire burned in her core until she had to clench her thighs together to ease the ache.

“I think you’ve cleaned it enough,” he ground out. “Unless you’re just into torturing me now.”

“Oh.” She tilted the bottle back, realizing she hadn’t been paying attention to what she was doing. “Sorry.”

Part of her wasn’t, though. Part of her
liked
having him at her mercy. Which was so totally not like her, she wasn’t sure what to think.

Using cotton pads, she dried the area all around the wound, then leaned close to get a good look.

He was wrong. This wasn’t just a flesh wound. It looked like there was something stuck in there. She couldn’t tell what, though. And she wasn’t equipped to try to get it out. “You need a doctor for this.”

“Just cover it with a bandage. It’ll be fine.”

God, he was frustrating. But there wasn’t anything else she could do tonight. Frowning, she set the bottle down, reached for the tape and fresh pads, and then went about covering the wound as carefully as she could. When she finished, she remembered the pills she’d stuffed in her pocket for the flight. “Hold out your hand.”

“Drugging me now?”

“I wish.” She opened the small plastic bag and dropped two pills into his palm, then handed him a water bottle. “Tylenol. Should take the edge off.”

“Our friends didn’t find that?”

“They’re your friends, not mine. And no, they were more concerned with you than me. They didn’t even check me. Just took my purse.”

A look of relief passed over his features, one she tried to ignore but couldn’t.

“Do you have more of these?” When she nodded, he held out his hand. “This isn’t going to do it for me. Gimme six more.”

She arched one brow. “You’re only supposed to take two.”

“Two isn’t even a therapeutic dose. And I’m a big guy. Trust me, eight will do the trick.”

She shot him a look, but he shot one right back, one that was so damn sexy, it curled her toes in her shoes. Fighting back the arousal that wouldn’t seem to leave her, she shook her head and dropped two more pills into his hand. “Start with four, Iron Man. If you need more, then we’ll talk.”

“Miser.” He tossed the pills back and took a long swallow of water. But as she settled back on her heels, she realized he was watching her as he drank. Closely.

Her pulse shot up all over again. He was only a few inches away, and this close she could see the bruises that had formed around his eyes. As he lowered the bottle, her gaze drifted to his mouth. To his split lip she’d tended earlier. It looked better too, but she guessed it had to hurt as well, and, remembering the way he’d kissed her outside that store, she wondered if he’d even noticed or if he just hadn’t cared.

She wanted to kiss him again. Like she’d done when she’d surprised him in Barcelona. Only this time she wanted the kiss to lead to a whole lot more.

“Thanks,” he said softly, setting the water bottle aside. “I think I’m all better now.”

He might be, but she wasn’t. That low ache turned to a burn deep in her core. She needed. And though she knew she shouldn’t, she wanted. Right now.

She glanced down his torso, to his broad shoulders, strong pecs, and that chiseled abdomen with the tiny strip of hair that angled downward to the waistband of his slacks like a giant arrow. “Let me see the rest of you. I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Olivia—”

Grasping his good arm, she pulled him away from the wall, then angled around the side so she could get a look. There were a few cuts and scrapes and bruises across his back, but nothing that needed to be bandaged. Moving around his front once more, she pushed him back against the wall, straddled his hips, and laid her palms on his shoulders.

“Um, Olivia.” He tensed beneath her. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re not injured anywhere else. I know you may not like it, but I still do need you to get me out of here.”

His hands tentatively grazed her knees. “Why would you think I wouldn’t like that?”

She pressed her fingers along his shoulders, pretending to feel for wounds but truly just needing to touch him. It was silly—stupid, actually—but
touching him reaffirmed that he was real. That he was alive. That she was too. And right now she needed that confirmation. Needed it more than she rea
lized. “Because I’m not some voluptuous, mysterious redhead.”

He pushed away from the wall and sat up quickly, bringing their bodies into closer contact. His big hand captured her jaw, forcing her to look him in the eye. “I don’t want voluptuous redheads. I never did. I want . . .”

The words died on his lips. And something dark, something painful, flashed in his eyes before he released her and leaned back against the wall once more. “It doesn’t matter what I want. All that matters is getting you the hell away from here.”

The last rays of moonlight slowly dimmed, draping the loft in utter darkness. Even though he was beneath her, his face mere inches from hers, Olivia couldn’t see him anymore. But the things she’d seen in his eyes . . . those lingered. And ignited that burn inside into a full-blown blaze.

Her sex ached. Her breasts tingled. She was strung out on too much adrenaline, too little sleep, and a whole other set of emotions she hadn’t had time to process yet. But she didn’t want to think about any of that. She also didn’t care about what Landon wanted. She wanted him. Now, right now. And screw the consequences.

She leaned forward, couldn’t see in the dark to know how far away he was, but used her senses to guide her. Her breasts brushed his chest. She lifted a hand and grazed her fingers along the stubble of his jaw.

Beneath her, his whole body tensed, and he sucked in a breath. “Olivia—”

Her mouth found his. She tried to be gentle, considering his injured lip, but she didn’t want gentle. She wanted fast. She wanted deep. She wanted something to make her stop thinking, something to make her forget. She wanted something to take away all the pain and humiliation and horror of the last few hours.

She brushed her mouth against his and slipped the tip of her tongue across the seam of his lips, wanting—no, needing—for him to let her in. And just when she thought he wasn’t going to, just when she thought she was going to have to get tough with him like he’d been with her outside that store, he groaned, opened to her, and stroked his tongue along hers until every nerve ending in her body came to life.

Ah God . . .
She kissed him deeper, hungry for more. His arms snaked around her, pulling her in closer. Against her breasts she felt his warm, solid chest, and between her legs, his thick erection strained against the fly of his pants.

“Livy . . .” He slid one hand up into her hair, tipped her head the other way, and changed the angle of the kiss, devouring her mouth. She groaned against him and pressed down on his erection, needing to feel him closer, tighter,
inside
.

He kissed her again and again, but it wasn’t enough. Letting go of him, she reached for the zipper on her sweatshirt. As he slid his fingers along her jaw and continued to kiss her, she wriggled her way out of the garment. Tossing it on the hay around them, she dragged her mouth from his, grasped the hem of her tank, and wrenched it over her head.