The Mercenary and the Shifters (The Turning Stone Chronicles) (13 page)

Chapter 20

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen you at the club,” said the clerk at the sign-up desk. “How many shooting today?”

“Just two.” Fiona handed the clerk the money for their round. Mike had insisted on paying, but since skeet was her suggestion, she wanted to pay. He could pay at the target range.

They carried their shotguns, ammunition, and protective gear out to the semicircle range where Fiona instructed Mike in the basics.

“The targets will come from those building at the ends of the target range. One shoots a skeet from the high house from ten feet high, the other from the low house at about three and a half feet high. Both skeets will rise to fifteen feet at the center of the field.”

“Got it,” Mike said.

“We’ll get twenty-five targets per round, with seventeen shots as singles and eight as doubles. If you miss one, you repeat the shot immediately. That’s called an option. Don’t feel bad if you miss and I don’t. I’ve been doing this since I was old enough the hold a gun.”

“And bragging about it just as long, I’ll bet.”

She chose to ignore his dig. “We’ll move around this semi-circle from station to station finishing in the center at the end of the round. If no targets are missed during the round, the last target is shot from the last station, low house eight. Questions?” she asked as she put on her eye protection.

“What’s the bet if I beat you?” He put on his protective glasses.

“You won’t.”

“If I do?”

“I rarely miss. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

“Neither do I.”

“You said you never played skeet. Were you hustling me?”

“Nope. But I’m a quick study.” He laid his shotgun over his arm, the barrel hanging open.

Fiona inserted her ear protection.

“How about you tell me where you were last night?” he said, his voice raised so she could hear him.

“What would I get if I win?”

“Name it,” he said.

Her tongue darted out and she licked her lips. She knew what she wanted. The kiss he didn’t give her last night. But it wasn’t worth telling him about Falhman. “New deal,” she said. “If I win we’ll go to dinner. Your treat. If you win I’ll cook dinner for you. Whatever you want.”

“I’ve got a pretty fancy palette. I might want to start with oysters Rockefeller, followed by linguine with black truffles and a green salad garnished with pomegranates followed by chocolate mousse, all served with a delicious red wine. Can you handle that?”

Fiona stifled a snicker. He’d just named five of the most well-known aphrodisiacs. Oh, yeah. She could handle that . . . and more, if he’d give her the chance.

“Deal,” she said. She’d throw a target or two just to feed him and get him in the mood. “Ready to lose?” she asked.

“Ladies first.”

Fiona took her position at station one, her feet planted on the concrete pad, and dropped one round into each chamber of her double-barrel shotgun. After swinging the barrels up, closing and locking the breech, she raised the weapon to firing height and shouted, “Pull!”

The target flew out of the high house. Fiona followed its course, leaned slightly forward, and squeezed the trigger. The clay disc burst into pieces, exploding in the air like brown fireworks. She called for the second target from the low house, and smashed that. Then she reloaded her gun and called for the high and low house targets. They shot out simultaneously. Her gun popped two shots off and both targets broke.

“Your turn,” she said to Mike.

“Pretty good.” Mike’s eyebrows arched in amazement. “I expected you might miss.”

She made a face at him.

Mike took his position and matched her shots. As they moved to station two, he said, “Can you keep the pace? I’m getting hungry thinking about those delicacies you’re going to cook for me.” His eyes twinkled mischievously.

He was baiting her. Her mind wandered of its own accord to the affects she hoped his aphrodisiacs would have on him. As she loaded her gun, her hand trembled.

He’s playing a macho mind game with you. Don’t let him psych you out.

She missed the next target, and called for her option. The bottom of the target broke as she barely hit it. His psychological game worked. Concentrating, she broke the next two targets, but he’d already done damage to her game. He was ahead now. She fished around in her brain for something to throw him off as well.

“What do you say to double or nothing if we tie?” she asked.

He grinned at her. “Feeling the pressure?”

“No. I just thought we could up the stakes. If we tie at skeet, then target shooting will be the tiebreaker.” She was pretty darn good at making bull’s eyes.

“And the bet?”

“Dinner and dancing, if I win.” If he held her in his arms for any length of time, maybe she’d get him to kiss her.

Mike loaded his shotgun without answering and called for his targets, hitting all four. He could hit most any moving target. It wasn’t going to be an even battle. She’d already missed one. Losing might be the only way he could get her to open up to him. But dancing? Way too dangerous for him. He’d barely kept his distance last night when he’d been furious with her. Soft music, dim lights, and a curvy woman in his arms was a straight road to romantic disaster.

“What if I win both bets? Will you tell me where you were last night?” It was a safe option. She’d never agree.

She stood silent, her open shotgun laid over the crook of her arm. Mike thought he’d never seen a woman look so sexy holding a firearm. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out sweeping across the soft flesh. Need crushed him as he envisioned holding her. His trigger finger jerked involuntarily, the motion traveling along his arm, causing a tremor in his muscle. He prayed she’d back down from their secondary bet, because he didn’t think he could hold his gun steady.

“Deal.” She strode to station three, loaded her gun, and broke both targets.

Mike missed the low house target. Behind him, he heard Fiona’s giggle of glee. He broke his option and tied the game.

They made the rest of the rounds in silence, Fiona’s concentration so thick it hung like a fog around them. At the last station, Fiona got her high house target but missed the low target.

Mike stepped onto the target pad, loaded his gun, and smashed his first target. If he got the next one, he’d get dinner, but no answers. He exhaled to calm himself. Dinner was way better than risking holding her. He had to make the next target.

“Wait,” Fiona cried as he lifted the weapon. “You’ve got a huge spider on you. I’ll pick it off.”

He stiffened as she brushed his back with a swift motion, sweeping up the collar of his shirt.

“Sorry,” she said. Soft fingers caressed his neck as she folded the material.

A shiver ran over Mike at her touch, and little Mike started moving. He lowered his weapon and huffed out a breath, trying to get control, willing his body to calm. His erection lessened, but his insides shook like a spider web in the wind. An eternity seemed to pass.

“You okay?” Fiona asked.

“Fine,” he said, positioning his gun. “Pull!” he shouted louder than necessary. The target flew out of the house. Mike followed the trajectory and jerked off a shot. The clay disc soared over the center and to the ground unbroken.

Fiona grinned at him as he wheeled around. “Looks like we might go dancing.”

“Or you’ll be confessing,” he retorted. “I hope you’re better at targets than you are at skeet.”

She gave him a wicked smile. “I never miss at target practice.”

Mike swallowed the lump rising in his throat. Hitting moving objects was his forte.

Mike shoved the necktie against his collar and checked his appearance in the mirror. After beating him at target practice, she’d chosen some posh dinner dance club, with a suit-and-tie-only policy. She’d insisted he dress in this monkey suit. One lousy shot was all she beat him by. If she hadn’t pulled another oh-you’ve-got-something-on-you scam he would have beaten her. But she touched him, and he went to pieces like bone china on concrete.

He ran his finger around the edge of the dress shirt. Then he shrugged into a jacket Fiona had found in her dead father’s closet. Mike left it unbuttoned since it was a tad snug in the chest.

He jammed some bills into his wallet. She may have won, but he was going to pay. That was the gentlemanly thing to do. Besides, Kyle Morrison had footed the bill the last time she went dancing. He could do no less. The vision of Kyle Morrison holding Fiona in his arms flooded Mike’s brain, and a wave of jealousy washed over him.

She’s a job
, he reminded himself.
Just a job. You’ve got to use this opportunity to find out what she’s hiding from you and why.
He’d ply her with wine and be witty, and when she least expected it, he’d ask the hard questions—and get some answers.

“Guess you don’t need me to tag along on your date,” George said as Mike entered the living area of the guest cottage.

“It’s not a date,” Mike growled. “I just lost a bet.”

George shook his head. “Not buying that. Whenever a beautiful woman wants a man to take her dancing it’s about more than winning a bet.” He grinned and relaxed on the couch. “Leave a sock on her doorknob when you two do the horizontal mambo. When I do my rounds, I won’t check that room.”

Mike balled his fist and shook it at George. “You’re asking for one of these.”

“Sorry. I’ll zip it now.”

“Smart man.” Mike retrieved his pistol from the kitchen counter and shoved it into his small-of-the-back holster. “We won’t be gone long.”

“Why? Does she turn into a pumpkin at midnight? Oh, wait, that’s you.”

Mike scowled at him, taking a step in George’s direction.

George hunched his shoulders into a protective position and made a zipping motion with his hand over his mouth.

Mike readjusted his jacket, yanking on the lapels, and left the cottage.

When Fiona descended the staircase in the mansion, Mike nearly lost it. The mid-torso “V” in the front of the dress left nothing to the imagination. At the bottom step, she rotated, reaching for a wrap she’d hung on the newel post. The fabric, cut to her waist in the back, exposed even more flesh.

Where did she expect him to put his hands when they danced? The thought of touching her bare skin sent a flame racing to the base of his spine, where it lit a smoldering fire in his groin. He moaned. She turned and stared at him, and he hoped she hadn’t heard.

“You are very handsome,” she said, her voice low and husky.

“Thanks, so are you.”

A smile lit her face. “I’ve been called good-looking and exquisitely beautiful, but never handsome.”

“Beautiful,” he said quickly. Damn, the woman was scrambling his brains. “Exquisitely beautiful. I’m not just saying it because Kyle Morrison did.”

“It wasn’t Kyle.” She tipped her head and studied him. “Are you jealous of Kyle? Because you shouldn’t be. He’s a business partner. Or he will be soon.”

Mike held his hands in front of his body, palms out. “Hey, none of my concern,” he said defensively. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Who you date is your call.”

She looped her arm through his, her touch sending shivers down the length of him. “Let’s not talk about Kyle tonight. Or assassination attempts or anything unpleasant. I want to enjoy the moment, the music, and the man I’m with.”

Ditto
, said his heart.
Damn,
said his head. She would avoid the topics he’d want to broach.

She smiled at him, a glittering, openly seductive smile. The lady had one thing on her mind. Him. If he wasn’t careful he’d fall straight into her trap.

Chapter 21

“I love this song,” Fiona said, when the strains of Barry Manilow’s “Copacabana” floated on the air. She rose and tugged him to his feet. The beat of the cha-cha-cha picked up, and Fiona started shuffling, her hips swaying to the rhythm.

Mike watched her, his heart mimicking the shift and thrust of her hips. “I would have never taken you for a ’70s kind of music gal, much less Manilow,” he said over the sound of the band. He twirled her into his arms, and they stepped side by side, her hips bumping his.

“It was Mom and Dad’s song. She played it all the time. When Dad heard it, he’d run into the living room and dance Mom across the carpet. Sometimes he’d even put me on his feet and dance with me.”

Mike spun her in front of him and placed his hands on her hips as they moved forward and backward. “The song brings back good memories?”

“Which is odd, for such an unhappy story. Poor Lola, going mad after all those years without her lover, Tony.”

“Love is like that. It makes you crazy.”

“Is that why you never married?”

“Not the marrying kind.” He looked at the woman in front of him. What was he missing by making that declaration?

Something passed over her face akin to disappointment. Then she brightened, flashing him a smile that did not reach her eyes. She tossed her head, and he imagined yellow feathers waving in them, like those in the hair of the song’s heroine. His gaze dropped to the front of her dress, cut low. If she were his would he want more?

“Me either.”

Her words hit him harder than he imagined possible. He didn’t want the traditional life. A wife, two kids, a dog, and a cat. Hell, he didn’t even want the dog.

The chorus blared out, and Fiona raised her arms in the air, losing herself in the music, swaying so seductively Mike could not keep his eyes off her.

But he wanted this woman. What was happening to him? Maybe George was right. He should just do her and get her out of his system.

He reached for her, tugging her wiggling hips against him. Her touch was sheer agony and ecstasy. Her eyes popped open when their bodies met. Mike held out his left hand, reaching for hers. Her eyes never leaving his, she entwined her fingers through his. Encouraged by her actions, he threaded his arm around her. His hand splayed on her bare flesh, and he drew her against his chest. She gasped, the sound loud enough he heard it over the percussion of the music.

The melody ended, but they stayed wrapped against each other. Then without speaking, Mike led her off the dance floor to the table, where he asked for the check.

“Are we leaving?” she asked as he grabbed her wrap from her seat.

He leaned over her shoulder and kissed her neck. A visible shiver ran over her, causing the thin fabric barely covering her chest to ripple.

“I thought we might pursue something a bit more personal. Do you have a sock we can hang on the doorknob?”

“Dozens,” she replied.

Moonlight flooded Fiona’s bedroom. When she reached for the light switch, Mike stopped her. He wanted to see her naked, bathed in the soft glow of the heavens. He guided her toward the window where the moon’s radiance paled beside her beauty.

“Undress for me,” he whispered.

She dipped her head, suddenly shy after her bold seduction on the dance floor. When she hesitated, he slipped one side of her gown over her shoulder. It fell to her waist, exposing her bare breast. She hooked the material over her arms, depriving him of the glorious sight.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked, confused over her sudden modesty.

She stepped forward and curled her arms around him. “Yes,” she whispered. “But this way.”

Pulling his face to hers she covered his mouth in kisses, her hands running over his chest. She loosened his tie and threaded it off his neck. Then she unbuttoned his shirt with excruciating slow precision. Each button she undid exposed more and more of his passion. By the time she’d opened his shirt and pulled it from his pants, he could barely restrain himself.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered into her hair. “I need to touch you.”

“Not yet.” She reached for his belt, but he eased her away and slid his hands along her shoulders, pushing the gown to her waist. She gasped and threw herself against his bare chest. When her flesh hit his, Mike could not contain his raging passion. He slid her dress to the floor.

Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to the bed, and quickly stripped. She arched to meet his touch, guiding him as his hands roamed over her quivering body.

“Mike,” she whispered.

He stopped, praying she wouldn’t tell him to put his clothes on. He needed her. Wanted her. Like he had never wanted another woman.

“Yes?”

“I don’t normally do this. I don’t want you to think bad of me.”

He lay beside her and wrapped one leg around her, the full length of his need pressing against her. She gasped, making him uncertain. “Do you really want to do this?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a squeak, not as certain as he’d hoped. He considered breaking it off. Then she did the one thing that would not let him leave her.

Mike’s hesitation was more than Fiona could stand. He would stop if she didn’t act, and the dark fire rolling through her, driving her crazy, would not get quenched.

She slid her hand between their hips. Mike groaned when she touched him. His hands commanded control of every inch of her body, gently taking her. Making her insane with desire. Driving her to places she had no clue had ever existed.

When she thought the sensations flooding her could get no higher, his touch changed and she broke through the stratosphere of desire. Mike rolled her onto her back and mounted her. Wave after wave of delicious spasms overtook her. As their bodies joined, Mike’s convulsions met hers. They thrust and writhed, finally exploding in harmony.

As the last tremor vanished, he eased them to their sides and tucked his arms around her.

“The socks,” she whispered. “We forgot to put them on the door. What if George checks the room and finds us?”

Mike laughed, the sound bubbling on her neck.

“If he dares open your bedroom door, I’ll shoot him.”

“Please don’t. I’d hate to have to bail your naked butt out of jail.”

Mike kissed her head. “All right. I’ll knock his block off, instead.” She squirmed against him, causing their bodies to separate. “Do you want me to go?”

“Stay,” she said. “I feel safe with you here.”

But she knew she wasn’t. No matter what Mike might do, he could not save her from her greatest enemy—herself. She’d dug her grave with her involvement with the shifters, and no one could get her out.