Stolen Heat (17 page)

When everything between them had imploded in on itself.

She stared down at her food as if she hadn’t seen it before. “I’m really not that hungry anymore.”

Neither was he. Not for cheeseburgers and fries anyway.

He lifted a finger and signaled the waitress. “Check, please.”

Kat looked up as he climbed out of the booth. “Where are we going?”

He nodded toward the flashing neon sign across the street and pulled cash out of his wallet. “To bed. I think it’s been long enough, don’t you?”

Six years earlier
Cairo

Kat was waiting for him when he walked out of security at the Cairo International Airport. Standing amidst a sea of people, looking so goddamn gorgeous in her jeans and sleeveless blouse, she made his heart turned over in his chest. It was the first time she’d ever met his plane.

Then again, it was the first time he’d ever told her he was coming in.

He saw only her as he approached, and the moment her eyes found his through the crowd that spark they’d had from day one flared hot and bright.

“Hi.” She rose slowly on her toes when he reached her, wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her close.

“Hi, yourself,” he managed. She felt so good. Smelled like heaven. It’d been two weeks since that horrible scene in her apartment. He’d flown from Cairo to Bangkok that day with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and before he’d even landed in Thailand, he’d known what he was going to do. Maybe he’d known it from their first night at the Mena House.

His mother’s antique ring was a solid presence in his pocket, and he itched to give it to her, but this wasn’t the time. They still had a thousand things they had to deal with first. And most importantly, it was time he laid it all out on the line to her.

She eased back, and in her mocha eyes he saw relief and a whole lot of uncertainty that tightened his chest like a fist. “How was your flight?”

“Long.”

“You look tired. Were you in Europe?”

“No. Miami.”

She threaded her fingers in his as they headed through the terminal. “How long are you staying?”

“Two weeks.”

His arm jerked, and he turned when he realized she’d stopped. Confusion drew her brows together. “How long did you say?”

“Two weeks,” he said again.

“What about—”

He knew what she was thinking. He rarely stayed a week at a time when he visited, and he was always rushing off unexpectedly when he got word from a seller or a buyer that there was a deal to be had. That was going to change, but she didn’t know it yet. He’d worked his ass off the last six months to get his gallery to the place it was now, and he wasn’t about to blow all that he’d built if it meant she wasn’t going to be around to enjoy it with him. Being here now might set him back a few weeks, but he’d stay a month if it meant fixing what was broken between them.

“I cleared my schedule, Kat. No business meetings. I didn’t even bring my BlackBerry.” She looked so damn cute with her brows drawn together and that little crease in her forehead, he moved closer. “I know you have to work, but I’ve got two full weeks off, and I want to spend them with you. However I can. If, that is, you’ll have me that long.”

She stared at him like he’d grown a second head, and just when he was sure she was going to ask what he’d been drinking on the plane, she threw her arms around his
neck and kissed him. “Yes. Oh, yes. I even have some time off coming to me. Not a full two weeks, but—”

Thank you, God.

His arms tightened around her. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

She laughed against his throat, a warm, relieved, loving sound that tingled all the way to his toes and told him they were good. This was right. They’d make it work. “Oh, Pete. Two full weeks. I can’t believe it. I’ve missed you so much.”

He held her close, buried his face in her hair and breathed in her sweet jasmine scent as people continued to rush around them.

And knew she couldn’t possibly miss him as much as he’d missed her.

Camden, New Jersey
Present day

Kat stared at the bed in the middle of the room—the only bed in the run-down, forty-nine-dollar-a-night motel room—as her pulse jumped. From the bathroom, she could hear the shower going and knew if she was going to make her move, now was the time.

So how come her feet were cemented to the floor? How come she couldn’t take her eyes off that damn mattress?

Moron.

The erratic
thump, thump, thump
of her heartbeat echoed in her ears like the roar of a 747 on takeoff. Without a word to her, Pete had paid for the room with a wad of cash, ushered her inside, then announced he needed a quick shower. And since he’d disappeared behind the bathroom door, she’d been staring at the sheets in front of her, thinking of the hundreds of times they’d lain together, right up until the end. Then, it had been right.
Now? Now she didn’t know what the heck was happening.

When had he changed his mind about what he wanted from her? Yeah, he’d been primed in the strip club, but that wasn’t her doing. That was because of little-miss-blonde-big-boobs. The man had made it more than obvious every chance he got that he clearly couldn’t stand her anymore. So what was this? A pity fuck? A way to work off some tension? Or was it simply a way to prove to her he was calling the shots now, and she’d better shape up and listen?

Her pulse skyrocketed again at just the thought of being dominated by him. On her back, tied down. On her hands and knees, pinned from behind. Didn’t really matter how or where, the end result was always the same.

Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she lifted a shaky hand, wiped her fingers across her brow. Okay, now she was officially sick. Because even though she knew this—whatever he planned to do to her on that one, lone bed—wasn’t about rekindling an old romance or even attempting some sort of reconciliation, she knew she wasn’t going to say no to him.

She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and told herself she should walk out now. Forget about waiting for him to fall asleep. There was something about Peter Kauffman that made her knees weak, made her rethink simple logic, made her bend every one of her rules. He’d done that to her in Cairo years ago. He was doing it to her again now.

The water shut off, and a crackling sound followed, like the shower curtain being pulled back.

Kat stiffened and realized she’d been standing in the same place for the last ten minutes. She needed to get a hold of herself. Lifting her hands to her cheeks, she felt the heat there and knew Pete was going to see it as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom.

Please don’t let him walk out of that bathroom naked.

The door pulled open before she could move, and a wave of heat and steam preceded him as he eased into the bedroom. She drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Ivory soap and sweet, wet male skin, and dared one quick look his way. Then wished she hadn’t.

His chest was bare. Light from the bedside lamp glinted off his hard, firm abs. Her eyes dropped lower, to his belly button and the thin line of hair that narrowed and darkened, pointing like a flashing arrow downward until it disappeared beneath the waistband of the same low-slung, worn denim jeans he’d been wearing earlier. As heat rushed back into her cheeks, she dropped her eyes to the floor and noticed his bare feet peeking out from beneath the frayed cuffs.

Oh, Lord, even his toes were gorgeous.

Not good. Not. Good. At. All.

He rubbed a towel over his hair, mopping up water, then down over the nape of his neck. “Shower’s all yours. I washed out my shirt, laid it over the towel bar to dry. Until we can hit a mall or something tomorrow, we’ll have to make do.”

Kat’s eyes flashed back to his bare chest. Make do? Oh, man. She was almost afraid to ask what he meant by that.

He tipped his head, eyed her with a quizzical expression. “You got something on your mind?”

Kat gave her head a small shake. Tried like hell not to blush again. No luck. She could literally feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. “What? No. I’m fine. I’ll be out in a few.”

Happy for the brief escape, she made sure to take a wide berth around him and slipped into the bathroom. Since there was no lock on the door, she silently cursed that he could walk in on her at any moment but figured he probably wouldn’t. No, he wanted her to sweat, which was exactly what she was doing, wasn’t she? Whatever he had
planned was going to happen out there. In that other room. In that very, very small bed.

She groaned, braced her hands on the sink and dropped her head. A series of deep breaths helped settle the nerves in her stomach, and when she looked up, all she saw was a foggy mirror and a blurred image.

Better that she not see her wanton reflection. It would only reaffirm what she knew was true. She was dangerously close to jumping his bones.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. With a shake of her head, she squared her shoulders and hefted the backpack up onto the edge of the sink. She opened the latch, reached inside and pulled out her Beretta. The metal felt cool in her hands, solid and familiar. Out of habit she checked the magazine, snapped it back into place and made sure the safety was set. She was prepared to use it if she had to, though deep inside, she really, really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Funny, she thought as she tipped her head and studied the gun in her hand. The whole time she and Pete had been running over the last few hours, she hadn’t had a chance to pull her weapon. Or maybe she just hadn’t thought to do so. A gun she hadn’t once forgotten to slip in the nightstand beside her bed in more years than she could count. A gun she never went anywhere without.

She knew why instantly and hated the reason. Because no matter how many times she questioned his ethics, she still felt safer with Pete than without him.

Heaving a sigh at the emotions that thought stirred in her, she slipped the gun back into her pack. Her fingers brushed a fabric pouch, and she drew out the necklace she’d stolen from his auction.

For a moment she thought about opening it but then changed her mind. This wasn’t the time. Just like the bathroom at that rundown diner hadn’t been either. When she was alone and could think without this sex-charged
brain fuzz, then she’d take the time she needed and look at what she’d hidden inside.

Her shower did little to settle her nerves, and when she stepped out and dried off, the idea of putting her dirty clothes back on made her cringe. But she wasn’t going out there naked, and she hadn’t thought ahead far enough to stick a change of clothing in her pack back in New York.

The bra was a necessity, but the two-day-old panties were not. She tossed them in the trash and pulled on her jeans.

One deep breath and she knew she’d spent as much time in the bathroom as she could. Kat picked up her pack and opened the bathroom door. The bedside lamp was off, a low hum echoing through the room from the heater under the window. From the light in the bathroom behind her, she could see Pete laid out on the mattress, the blankets and sheets pulled down to the foot of the bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he eyed the door.

One bed. One bed.
He’d gotten a room with
one
bed.

“Are you coming or what?” he asked in a thick, sexy voice that sent heat rushing through her body.

Oh, geez. What a question. To be taken in several different ways.

Use your brain, Kat. You know, that thing taking up space between your ears?

But still she didn’t move. Only breathed deep and was sure he could hear every pull and draw of air in her lungs.

He sat up slowly and dropped his legs over the side of the bed. “I know it’s not the Ritz, but my cash reserves are running low, and until I can replenish, I didn’t want to risk using my credit card. You can make do for one night.”

Kat opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Before she could get her mouth working, Pete’s expression eased. “They didn’t have a room with two beds, and
I wasn’t about to let you stay by yourself. At least not until we know Minyawi’s out of the country.”

She should have felt relief. Instead she was still so keyed up she didn’t know what to think. He didn’t want to sleep with her after all? The knowledge was almost harder to deal with than thinking he had something sinister planned.

“Lie down, Kat,” he said, his voice hard. “You’re not going to be any use to me tomorrow if you’re dead on your feet. We’re both tired. We need to sleep while we can.”

Her eyes cut from the mattress to him. And she knew she was stuck. When he lay back on the pillow again and crossed his bare feet at the ankles, she flicked the bathroom light off and walked around the bed to the far side.

Okay. She could do this. Lie here beside him. Not think about touching him or kissing him or having wild jungle sex with him. She was tough, after all. She’d proved it over the past six years, hadn’t she?

Her pack hit the floor with a soft thud as she sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him. The mattress was firm, and she gave it a bounce to see if it softened. No luck.

Carefully, she eased back on the pillow, well on her side of the bed and away from Pete’s near nakedness. She lay still, listening to his breathing, waiting for it to deepen and indicate he was asleep.

It took forever. While she waited, she quietly crossed her arms over her chest, dropped them to her side, folded them over her middle. She was hot. It was too damn warm in the room, and her skin felt prickly. She eyed the heater and thought about getting up and turning it off.

No, she’d just live with it. If he was starting to drift off, she didn’t want to do anything to rouse him.

She blew out a long breath and crossed her feet. Uncrossed them. Her skin itched, and she reached up to scratch her arms. Then her side. Her thighs. She thought
about the mattress they were sleeping on. The run-down motel. How many other people had slept in this same room. What lived on the mattress.

Damn. This wasn’t working.

Before she could stop herself she jumped up, reached for the edge of the fitted sheet and pulled it back from the corner of the mattress.

Pete eased up on his elbows, looking irritated beyond belief. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just…”

The mattress was clean. She checked the edges. The creases. Pulled the sheet far enough back to look under where her pillow lay.

“Kat?”

Nothing.

She retucked the sheet. “I watched a special on
60 Minutes
about bedbugs in motels.” She reached for the flimsy faux wood headboard. “They’re often massed behind the—”