The Phoenix (13 page)

“What?”

“In your room,” she told him. “When you startled me, remember?”

He continued to stare blankly at her.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, reaching forward to open his robe. Her finger lightly traced an angry line on his chest and they winced simultaneously—her in regret, him in pain.

He looked down, as though just seeing the reddened skin for the first time and blinked. “Damn. So you did.”

“You hadn’t noticed?”

He continued to look at her finger against his chest and the air between them suddenly shifted, grew heavier and warm. Golden curly hair clung to his impressive pecs and bisected his abdomen in a darker line that disappeared beneath the elastic band of his boxers. His abs were rock hard and well formed, the traditional coveted six-pack. His nipples were dusky dark and slightly puckered. She noticed a half-moon–shaped scar beneath one and had to forcibly keep herself from touching it as well, as though his body were hers to explore, his various scars, freckles and moles a treasure map of masculine sexuality.

He released a shuddering breath and she felt his hand tentatively cup her cheek, his thumb lightly trace the curve of her jaw. His fingers were gratifyingly unsteady—hesitant even—and that single hint of uncertainty, the idea that she might not welcome his touch, was what ultimately made her look up.

He was staring at her cheek, where his hand met it, specifically, and the look on his face made her heart squeeze with some new emotion she didn’t recognize because she’d never felt it before. It was bittersweet and triumphant and
wonderful.

His gaze met hers then, desire a blue flame lighting them from within, and, though only a second ago he might have been cautious, the kiss he suddenly pressed against her lips was not. It was thrillingly sure, bone-meltingly competent and had the magical ability to burn through her body like wildfire, singeing nerve endings, charring any good sense and reservations and leaving her all but utterly liquefied.

She sighed against his talented lips, leaned into him and slid her hands up and over his chest, along his shoulder and neck, then into his hair. He groaned against her mouth and deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue around hers. Heat swept her up in a tornado of sensation and she leaned farther into him. He settled against the edge of the desk, widened his legs into a deeper V so that she could fit between them and drew her closer. His warm fingers explored her jaw and slid into the hair at the nape of her neck, making gooseflesh race across her scalp, while his other hand molded around her waist. She felt strangely safe and protected beneath his touch, feminine but not fragile.

She shivered from the inside out, her breasts plumped and tingled and the skin between her legs dampened and throbbed, ripening for him. He dragged his lips along her cheek, his nose along her jaw and inhaled, breathing her in, before bringing his lips back to her mouth. She could feel the tension in his body, the desire blistering through his skin, the sinfully hot ridge of his arousal nudging against her belly.

She swallowed a whimper, left his mouth and licked a path along the slightly salty side of his neck, then nipped at his earlobe. Gratifyingly, he shivered and drew her closer, lifting her up until she could feel him nestled at the top of her thighs.

Oh, sweet hell,
Charlie thought as he sucked her tongue into his mouth. His big hands shaped her bottom and squeezed, managing to align her so perfectly that when she so much as breathed, pleasure bloomed in her sex.

She was a few inhalations away from a
spectacular
orgasm.

And as much as she’d love that…she couldn’t let it happen.

With a sigh of regret, she broke free and stepped back.

He blinked at her for a moment, then sanity returned to his gaze and he passed a hand over his face.

“Sorry,” he said. “I—”

“No, it’s fine,” she told him, because the last damned thing she wanted him to be was sorry that he’d kissed her. She was lots of things at the moment—hot, bothered and unsatisfied, for starters—but her only regret was not being able to take this to its natural conclusion.

But she couldn’t. Not with him. He was The Enemy, she reminded herself with a bracing breath. The guy who’d taken her dream job. The guy she was bound and determined to best. Looking to him for a little mutually satisfying sex would be the height of stupidity, and while Charlie would admit to some occasional dumbass-ness, she was rarely unforgivably stupid.

And sleeping with Jay Weatherford would certainly be that.

He straightened and pushed away from the edge of the desk. “You know what?” he said matter-of-factly. “I lied.”

“What?”

“I lied,” he repeated. “I’m not sorry. I apologized because it felt like the right thing to do, but I’m not sorry. I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day—” his broody gaze dropped to her mouth, making her lips tingle anew “—and I’m not sorry that I did it because it only confirms what I expected all along.”

Charlie couldn’t quite catch her breath. “Oh? What was that?”

“That you have the best mouth I’ve ever seen,” he said baldly. “It’s unbelievably hot. Soft, plump, ripe and better-tasting than any other.” He waited for her to say something, but she couldn’t. She was too stunned to speak. “Now’s when you’re supposed to pay me a compliment, too,” he said, gesturing magnanimously. “Doesn’t have to be as eloquent as mine, but it’s only good manners to repay it in kind.”

Charlie struggled to form a coherent thought. She’d never met a guy quite like Jay, one who was so forthright and honest. “You…”

He smiled encouragingly. “Yes?”

“You… You have nice shoulders,” she blurted out.

His face went comically still. “That’s a new one on me, but I’ll take what I can get.” He paused. “And I mean that literally. Fair warning, Charlie. I’m going to kiss you again.”

Panic punched her heart rate into a swifter rhythm. “Oh, no. I—” More kissing would inevitably lead to more…of everything else.

“I know it’s a bad idea,” he said, reading her mind. He shrugged helplessly. “We’re opponents working for rival companies. I’ve got the job you wanted. You want to annihilate me. I get it. But—” He stepped forward again, lessening the distance between them, and slid his thumb across her bottom lip. His lids dropped to half-mast and he sighed softly, then brushed her mouth once more with his. “—I know my own strength and this is a battle I’m not going to win.”

She lifted her chin. “Just because you can’t win your battle doesn’t mean I can’t win mine,” she said, striving for some sort of mental high ground.

He grinned at her. “True,” he said. “But you’ve got to want to win it…and you don’t want to any more than I do.”

And the hell of it was…she knew he was right.

Damn.

9

“THERE’S BEEN A DEVELOPMENT,” Aggie said when Charlie and Jay practically skidded into the room. Jay was gentleman enough to let her enter first, a gesture of courtesy too many women these days didn’t appreciate.

While Aggie was well aware that women had earned their spots in the work force, she’d never understood the I’ll-get-my-own-door mentality some of them subscribed to. Opening a door, pulling out a chair, standing when a woman rose from the table. These were things her parents had taught their sons, lessons she’d passed on to her boys.

Evidently Jay’s mother and father had taken the time to teach him, as well. It was heartening to see that, to know that some people still remembered and appreciated old-school deportment.

He nodded in her direction. “Good morning, Ms. Aggie.”

She smiled at him. “Morning, dear. I trust you slept well.”

He flashed a grin. Goodness, what a handsome devil. “Like a baby, thank you.”

The telltale smudges beneath Charlie’s eyes told her that the younger woman hadn’t fared as well, but she asked all the same. “And you, Charlie?”

Her gaze darted fleetingly to Jay, then a smile that was just a little wan and too hesitant shaped her lips. “Fine, ma’am. You said there was a development. What’s happened?”

Aggie released a nervous breath. “The ransom instructions were delivered sometime during the night. Smokey found them this morning when he arrived.”

Jay’s gaze sharpened. “Found them where?”

“On the gatehouse. They were taped to the window.”

For whatever reason, that made Charlie blush. “Burt didn’t find them?”

“No,” Aggie said. “Burt arrives at seven.” She hesitated. “Smokey typically gets here a little earlier.”

Because Aggie was an early riser and liked to prepare her own breakfast, it had become their habit to share the meal together without Jasmine or any of the other staff. She absolutely cherished that time. It was her favorite part of the day, watching him duck into the kitchen, then smile when he saw her, the light reaching his wise eyes.

“What time did he get here this morning?” Jay asked.

“Five-thirty.” He liked to watch her cook, had said seeing a woman move around the kitchen was the second-best way to start a morning. She’d never mustered the courage to ask what he thought the
best
way to start the morning was. She expected his answer would make her blush.

“Could we see it?” Jay asked.

Aggie noted the
we
with pleasure. A quick glance at Charlie confirmed that she’d caught the use of the plural, as well. She looked almost startled, for lack of a better description. As though she wasn’t used to a man who wasn’t trying to put his own interests first.

“Of course.” Aggie retreated to the library table to retrieve the missive and then handed it to Charlie. She’d hired her, after all. It only seemed right. Furthermore, she wanted to see what Charlie would do, to see if she’d willingly share the information that had just been put into her hands.

“I wish I had some gloves,” Charlie muttered as she carefully withdrew the note. “I feel like I’m destroying whatever evidence might be here.”

“The last letter was clean,” he told her. “No prints, no trace.” He nodded toward the pasted-letter note. “No doubt this one is, as well.”

Charlie made a moue of concession and studied the instructions. A line knitted her brow.

“What is it?” Aggie wanted to know.

“Something about this is nagging me,” she said. “I feel like I should be recognizing something here.”

The same expression was written across Jay’s face. “I’m pulling the same vibe. I can’t put my finger on it, but…”

She looked up at him. “I know. I feel like I’ve seen it before—and I have, in the other letter, of course—but this is different.”

They bent their heads over the note, scrutinizing it further. “They want the money wired into an offshore account,” Jay said. “That’s clean. It doesn’t give us any chance at all of meeting them. Catching them. Finding anything incriminating.”

“And look at this,” Charlie pointed out. “They’re going to text the account number to Aggie’s phone in scrambled intervals—my guess, with several disposable cell phones—with a sixty-second window to make the transfer.” She looked up at him. “That’s slick. It doesn’t leave any time to investigate the account. Chances are they’re going to be ready to immediately move the money again—sweep it directly into another account—and close the original.”

“Should we go that route?” he asked. “Would you have enough time to hack into the system?”

She winced thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Sixty seconds isn’t a long time. And definitely not with the equipment I brought with me.”

“I don’t understand half of what you just said, but I can get you whatever you need,” Aggie interjected. “Obviously, I’ll pay the ransom.” Her voice broke, but she collected herself when they both looked up at her. “But I will not release one red cent until I know for sure that my Truffles is fine, that not a hair on her little body has been harmed.”

“It says here that they will text the location of the dog once the transfer is complete.”

Aggie’s lips formed a hard smile. “Then I guess this is what one would call a Mexican standoff, because I won’t transfer the money without confirmation that my dog is alive and well.”

Charlie winced. “Until we find them, we have no way of communicating that.”