Out Of Her League (35 page)

She squirmed beneath him, unbelievably making his body stir inside her. “Is that right?”

He rose on one forearm to kiss her smiling mouth, stunned at the hunger roaring up. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

She pulled him down into a hungry kiss.

Waking in his own bed next morning, Rayne regretted giving into Christa's pleas and going back to his room. His mom would never have embarrassed them by saying anything, but he'd gone anyhow to put Christa at ease. He would have loved to wake up with her curled against him though, pick up where they left off a few hours ago.

He stretched his stiff, sore arm over his head, imagining her sleepy sigh as he woke her with a trail of kisses up the length of her spine. Her back would arch, and she'd make that little hum of pleasure that set his pulse racing. The fantasy raced onward until she was on top of him with her head flung back, eyes closed as she moved faster and faster... until his cell phone rudely interrupted.

Sighing, Rayne flopped over and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. Yup. It was Nate, and as usual his timing sucked.

“Morning, sunshine,” Nate greeted his gruff hello.

“It's three in the morning your time. This must be important.”

“Got some interesting news for you.”

“Fire away.” Maybe it was best Christa wasn't there after all, because she always worried when Nate called. With good reason.

“Our perp left a laptop in the apartment he'd rented. When we retrieved the stuff from the hard drive we found the airline ticket confirmations in your names. He left it there purposely. Wanted us to know he's found you.”

He sat up. “Persistent, isn't he?”

“Yeah. After you called yesterday and told me you thought you saw him, we checked out the airports and a security camera showed a man resembling him waiting to board a flight to Atlanta. None of the names on the passenger list matched, but we're checking them all out in case he's got other aliases we don't know about yet.”

Oh, man, this was bad. Tension crept up his shoulders. “I already told you it wasn't him yesterday.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. His description was close. But when he looked back at us the second time, I knew it wasn't him.” He'd never forget what the son of a bitch looked like.

Nate hesitated. “I dunno, Hutch... ”

“Unless he's had cosmetic surgery, then I'm sure.”

Nate grunted. “Well, keep your head up, just in case. We're checking passenger lists now, so I'll get back to you when I know something more. In the meantime, maybe you should plan on taking a road trip.”

“We're going down to see my dad for a few days.” Let's hear what Nate had to say about
that
.

“No kidding? It's about damn time. Say hi to the old fart for me.”

“Will do.” Getting out of town seemed like a hell of a good idea.

Pulling on some clothes, he made his way down the hall to Christa's room, when he heard her moving around in the kitchen. He didn't want to start the day by telling her about the phone call. Her self-confidence had grown so much last night, and he wouldn't let anything ruin that.

He came up behind her at the sink where she was slicing strawberries, nuzzled the back of her neck. “Morning,” he murmured, enjoying her indrawn breath as he teased her nape.

“Morning,” she answered brightly. A little too loudly. “Sleep well?”

“Darlin', best sleep I've had in years.”

Her cheeks went pink, eyes darting to the staircase. “I'm glad to hear it.”

“You gonna look at me?”

She pressed her lips together, eyes on the fruit in the sink. “Not unless you put a shirt on,” she whispered tensely.

Feeling shy, was she? He grinned. “My mom's in the shower, sweetheart,” he laughed. “She can't hear us.”

“Oh.” Her aquamarine gaze swung up to his. He snagged one of her hands and brought it to his mouth to nip a ripe berry from her fingers. She whirled around and he hauled her tight against him. Her blush deepened.

“Missed you this morning.”

In answer she leaned up on tiptoe and kissed the breath out of him. When she pulled back, her eyes were sparkling. His body was rock hard, a fact that didn't escape her attention. She smiled in satisfaction, laughing when he growled and hauled her closer.

The sound made his heart squeeze. He wished she had more to laugh about so he could hear it more often. Instead, he was about to tell her something that would take all the laughter out of her again. He drew a breath and took the bowl of berries from her. “I'll get this. Come sit down and eat something.”

He waited until they had finished their breakfast and were sipping coffee before he broke the news. “Nate called this morning.”

Her eyes met his, held. “Oh? What did he have to say?” She got up to take the dishes to the sink.

Nothing good as usual, he thought grimly, and told her.

She swayed, the air squeezing out of her lungs in a wheeze. “I need to sit down.” She dropped into the kitchen chair and leaned her head into her hands. “So that could have been him you thought you saw yesterday.”

“The build and height were right,” he admitted, “but like I said it was a false alarm. You weren't in any danger.”

“Rayne, you were shielding me with your body.”

“That's my job, sweetheart, so I won't apologize for that. I'm supposed to be protective of you. And I will be.” He kissed her forehead. “What do you think about a drive to Baton Rouge?”

“Sure, but I can't run from him forever.”

“I know kiddo, but right now it seems like our best option. Besides, maybe this is the kick I need to go see my dad.”

By the time they hit the outskirts of Baton Rouge, Christa was exhausted. She hated having to be constantly on guard, her heart tripping every time she thought she saw someone resembling
him
, wondering where he was and what he'd planned for her. She tried her best to shove it to the back of her mind and enjoy her time away with Rayne.

Last night, though she'd worried it was too risky he took her to a Braves game in Atlanta, meaning it to distract her from the stalker's threat, but being at the ballpark only reminded her of Seth sitting behind home plate, vision pinned on her. She'd spent most of the innings scanning the crowd for those frigid gray eyes, comforted only by Rayne's presence and her confidence in his ability to guard her.

This morning they'd flown into New Orleans and picked up another rental car. No sooner had they driven out of the airport than Nate had called, Rayne squeezing her hand the whole time he talked to him.

“They've followed up the airport security camera sightings,” he reported afterward, “but no one's traveling under his name. So they're checking out aliases and forged passports, all that stuff.”

She tossed the magazine she hadn't been able to focus on down to the floor, staring out at the subdivisions and strip malls. He was out there, tracking her across the country. She suppressed a shudder.

Soon the properties they were passing were on larger lots, separated by tracts of forest. Finally they turned down a road bordered by woodland and slowed at a mailbox that read: Hutchinson.

Nerves jumped in her belly. “So, what should I be expecting here? Booby traps? Pet alligators?”

Rayne laughed and ruffled her hair. “He got rid of all those years ago.”

The house that came into view at the end of the driveway was a modest two-story colonial surrounded by a well-manicured lawn. The trimmed shrubbery met her approval, as did the way the yard set off the symmetrical aspect of the house. When the door opened and Luke Hutchinson stood there in the late afternoon light, she might have been looking at a slightly shorter version of Rayne twenty years from now.

The two men greeted each other with a stiff handshake and to smooth things over she nudged Rayne to prompt an introduction.

He finally remembered his manners. “Dad, this is— ”

“Christa, I'm Luke.” He held out his hand, seeming to take up all the space on the porch, even though Rayne had him by three or four inches in height and twenty pounds in muscle. The force of his personality blazed out of the melted bittersweet chocolate of his eyes.

“I can see why my son wants you all to himself,” he continued in that honeyed drawl.

“And I can see where he got his looks and charm from,” Christa countered, earning a grin. No wonder Emily was still in love with this guy. How could any woman get over someone with that face and charisma?

“If you're finished gawking at my old man,” Rayne remarked dryly, “maybe we could go inside.”

Christa blushed. “Sorry, I couldn't help myself.”

“I like her already,” he told Rayne, leading them into the kitchen. “Guest room's upstairs so take your stuff up, Rayne.” He regarded her with those hypnotic eyes. “You hungry? I'm making gumbo.”

“You can cook?”

“Hey, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. You can only eat so much mac and cheese without gagging on it.” He went to the stove and stirred the simmering stew.

She sat on a stool next to the counter, breathing in the aroma of onion and garlic and chilies. “I've never eaten gumbo before.” Was it going to be as hot as she'd heard?

“About time you did then. I tried to keep it on the mild side, but you might find it a little spicy.”

A thump sounded above and she glanced up at the ceiling.

“Guess he can't made up the hide-a-bed with one arm, can he?” Luke wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “I'll go up and give him a hand— ” he gave an ironic grin, “— no pun intended.”

“Can I help with anything in the meantime?”

“You can drain the rice in a minute, if you like.”

She hopped off the stool and removed the lid from the second pot, switched off the element and lugged the rice over to the double sink to drain it.

“Here, let me help— ”

She shrieked, whirling around and sloshing rice and hot water all over herself and the kitchen floor. Luke froze. She pressed a scalded hand to her chest, the room going hazy around the edges of her vision.

He dragged a chair over and placed her in it, pushing her head between her knees. “Just breathe, honey,” he instructed, not touching her but staying close while she struggled to control her gasping, her hands and face clammy.

She inhaled a few choppy wheezes and once she could breathe normally again, she slumped.

“Sorry,” she choked, willing her heart to slow down. “You surprised me.”

Luke took hold of her hands, checking for burns where the water had splashed. “I'm the one who's sorry. P.T.S.D., right?”

“It's that obvious, huh?”

He studied her face while dabbing at her with a tea towel. “I've been there myself, chère. You feeling sick to your stomach?”

“Yes,” she moaned, hiding her face between her hands. “Oh, God, what a horrible first impression.”

“C'mon.” He bent to scoop her up, despite her weak protest. “Let's get you outside for some air.” He set her down on a deck chair on the back porch. “You okay on your own for a minute? I'm gonna give the floor a quick wipe.”

“Sure.” He went inside and reappeared with a glass of amber liquid.

“Ginger ale. It'll help settle your stomach.”

She took it gratefully and swallowed a few sips. “I'm so embarrassed.”

“Hey, nothing to be embarrassed about. I know how it is.” He perched beside her, putting a fatherly arm around her shoulders. “What a hell of a family we're gonna make, huh? And to think we all seem so
normal
.”

His teasing brought a laugh from her.

“What happened?”

They swiveled to see Rayne standing in the doorway, his forehead creased in concern. Under his scrutiny her cheeks grew hot.

“She's all right,” Luke assured him. “Just scalded herself draining the rice.” She smiled her gratitude and he winked. “So, who's hungry?”

He'd managed to salvage most of the rice and served it into big bowls, ladling the stew on top. Most of the nausea had faded, though she wasn't sure she was up to spicy food. She swallowed the first bite and tried her damndest not to cough, but her eyes watered.

Luke grinned. “Want some milk?”

“Please,” she rasped, the gumbo burning all the way down to her gut.

“Five alarm gumbo?” Rayne guessed.

“Nah. Two alarm, max.” Luke handed her the glass of milk and Rayne a bottle of beer.

To let her taste buds recover from their scalding she set her spoon aside. “I'm so glad I'm finally meeting you,” she told Luke. “I've heard so much about you I feel like I'm sitting here with a legend.”

One dark eyebrows shot up. “And all the stories you've heard are good ones, right?”

She hoped he would interpret her grin as a “yes".

Rayne wolfed down a mouthful. “So how's business going? Any more trips planned to Iraq?”

“Maybe in another few months. The crew I've got over there now is doing a good job, so I can stay here awhile yet.” He gestured to Rayne's arm. “How are you healing up?”

“Pretty good. Only bothers me when I've overused it.”

During the silence that settled over them, Christa dipped her spoon into her dinner, casting a sidelong glance at Rayne. Both men seemed intent on finishing their food, the clink of silverware scraping their bowls magnified by the tense quiet.

“You guys want to watch the rest of the ballgame?” Luke offered, ending the awkward breach.

“Sure,” Christa said, maybe a little over-enthusiastically. She slid her bowl away, half-full.

“Too hot for you, huh, tenderfoot?”

“I think I have second-degree burns all the way down my esophagus,” she teased. “Would you mind if I used your shower to freshen up? It's a little sticky down in this part of the country.”

“Help yourself.”

In the guest bathroom, she froze. “Ah... Rayne? Could you come up here for a minute, please? I think there's something hiding in the drain of the tub... ”

Luke roared. “I think she saw her first Louisiana cockroach. I called the exterminators but those little suckers are as hard to kill as Osama bin Laden.”

“You'd better stand on the toilet seat, darlin',” Rayne called up the stairs. “He might be hungry.”