The Professional (25 page)

That had to be significant.

As for her house, it was a larger version of the cottages. White beadboard lined the bottom of the walls and she’d painted the top an interesting shade of blue, the color of an almost-but-not-quite night sky. Various vintage prints—Art Deco—were scattered around the room and a large antique mirror hung over her fireplace.

A comfy contemporary sofa had been dressed up with puffy floral pillows and instead of a traditional coffee table, she’d opted for an old seaman’s trunk. It was an eclectic mix of old and new—the end result was not only a reflection of herself, but comfortable and homey as well. He could very easily see her and Moses curled up on her couch watching TV and snacking, and to his acute discomfort, his imagination obligingly Photoshopped himself into that picture.

Audrey chose that moment to peer around the kitchen wall. “Dinner’s on,” she said, smiling. That adorable dimple winked in her cheek.

Once again, he was struck by just how beautiful she really was. Something in his chest squeezed, almost painfully. She’d left her espresso curls down and loose and, if she wore any make-up aside from a coat of pinkish gloss on her lips, she’d applied it with a very light hand. She was fresh and open and those kind, soothing eyes twinkled with some sort of hidden joy. She was bright and infectious and sexy as hell—the total package. Jamie released a pent-up breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. And the Colonel was right, he thought.

She
was
special.

And there was no way in hell he was going to let her marry Derrick.

Seduction on,
he thought, purposely kicking the charm factor up a notch. Playtime was over.

10

A
UDREY
WATCHED
Jamie’s lips curl into that trademark bone-melting grin as he sidled into her kitchen, and she felt the abrupt shift in his intent. It was as though he’d flipped a switch, the change was so remarkable.

He wore a pair of faded denim jeans which were tight in all the right places and a brown cable-knit sweater which accentuated his broad, muscled shoulders and picked up the golden tones of those remarkably sexy eyes. From the looks of things, he’d attempted to gel his unruly curls into place, but had failed because they’d sprung free, a riot of loose and sexy locks she simply itched to push her fingers through. He obligingly pulled her chair out for her.

“Thank you,” Audrey murmured.

“You’re welcome,” he said silkily. He took his own seat. “Thank you for cooking. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home-cooked meal.”

“Oh?” Fishing again, but what the hell? By this point he should expect it. Audrey filled his salad bowl first, then hers.

He grinned and his gaze twinkled with knowing humor. “You never give up, do you?”

She speared a forkful and shot him a smile. “No. It’s part of my charm.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d say that,” Jamie told her, his gaze dropping with lingering accuracy to her lips. He finally relented with a sigh. “Let’s just say that I have a roommate who isn’t any better in the kitchen than I am, and my mother and grandmother live too far away to make dropping by their house for dinner do-able.”

“How far out of Atlanta do they live?”

Jamie finished a bite of salad. “Five and half hours. They’re in Alabama.”

So that was the Roll Tide connection. Her grandfather had told her that they’d met at the University of Alabama. She should have realized that he still had family there.

In the process of carefully moving all of his olives to the side of his plate, Audrey frowned. “You don’t like olives. I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have asked.”

Jamie glanced up. “No problem,” he assured her with an easier grin. “They’re easy to spot and easy to move.”

“And—” Audrey forked one up from the side of his plate “—they are not meant to go to waste. I
love
olives.”

Jamie stilled for a fraction of a second, watched the olive leave his plate via her fork and then land in her mouth. Audrey swallowed. “Is something wrong?” she asked. Maybe he didn’t like them on salad, but preferred them otherwise? “Were you going to eat that?”

“No,” he said, blinking out of whatever had bothered him. He made a face. “Olives are nasty. They’re not in the ziti, are they?”

Audrey chuckled. “No.”

Jamie ladled some of the Italian dish onto her plate, then his. “Good.” He paused. “You know, if we were dating, this would be like our…third date, wouldn’t it?”

The question came so far out of left field
that Audrey choked on her wine. “Uh… Well, we aren’t dating, so it’s a moot point. But yeah, I suppose if we were, this would be considered our third date of sorts.” Bewildered, she darted him a confused glance. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he said quickly, then shoved a forkful of ziti into his mouth. He looked curiously alarmed, though for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why.

Audrey frowned. “Are you all right? You look a little flushed.”

“This is spicy.”

No, it wasn’t, Audrey thought, thoroughly baffled by his behavior. Rather than pursue it, though, she decided to continue their conversation. He’d finally given her a little bit of personal information. That was a start, at any rate.

“So your family lives too far away to cook for you. What about a girlfriend? There’s no future Mrs. Flanagan wannabe who whips up meals in your honor?”

The comment drew a laugh, full and throaty, and seemed to ground him once more. He picked up his glass, inspected the contents. “Er. No.”

Audrey shrugged, ridiculously pleased. Honestly, she had no vested interest in whether or not he had a girlfriend, but she couldn’t deny that the idea that there might be another woman in his life irritated her beyond prudent reason. In fact, it made her downright ill. A significant revelation no doubt lurked in her disproportionate jealousy, but why ruin what was going to be a wonderful evening with expectations and what-might-have-beens?

“What about you?” Jamie asked, turning the probing conversation around on her. “Does the future Mr. Audrey Kincaid cook for you?” he drawled.

She grimaced, smiled. “There is no future Mr. Audrey Kincaid.”

His gaze tangled with hers above the rim of his glass. “But I thought you said you were supposed to be considering a marriage proposal this week?”

She cocked her head, conceding the point. “I am. I’ve considered. I’m saying no.”

Though she might have imagined it, something seemed to shift in Jamie’s gaze. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as blinked, and yet she felt him tune in more fully. “Really? What made you come to that conclusion?”

A laugh broke up in her throat and she rolled her eyes. “You mean aside from the fact that I can’t keep myself from kissing you?” she said, grinning. “He’s just not the man for me. It, uh… It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

“Would you have said no if you had been able to resist kissing me?” he asked, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“No, I’d planned to say no all along.” She scooted a cut glass tumbler toward him and gestured toward the Jameson. “I was just dreading it.”

Jamie’s eyes twinkled with some sort of secret humor. He poured her a shot of the whiskey and slid it back to her, then hefted his own glass. “Here you go,” he said. “Liquid courage.”

How timely, Audrey thought, as she brought the tumbler to her lips. She was going to need it because she grimly suspected he planned to call in his massage any minute now.
Her hands on that hot silky skin, shaping those incredible muscles…
She took a drink, allowed the smooth honey-like taste of the whiskey to caress her tongue before swallowing. He was right, she thought, immeasurably pleased—no burn. Just a pleasant warmth which quickly expanded in her belly, then gradually infected the rest of her body.

Audrey inclined her head. “This is good,” she told him.

Jamie shrugged. “I like it.”

“Are you ready for dessert?” she asked.

His sexy twinkling gaze told her he had other ideas in mind. “Maybe later,” Jamie said. He leaned back in his chair and absently scratched his chest. “I thought I’d let you go ahead and give me that massage.”

Audrey chuckled. “
Let
me, eh? How thoughtful of you,” she said wryly.

“I’m nothing if not thoughtful.”

“I thought you said you were nothing if not resourceful?”

Jamie nodded sanctimoniously. “That, too.”

Audrey laughed, then stood and cleared their plates. “You’re nothing if not full of shit, that’s what you are.”

“Let me help you,” Jamie offered, chuckling. He stood and quickly helped her clear the table. It was nice, Audrey decided, warmed from a combination of his presence and the Jameson.

When the last dish was washed and dried, she took a deep breath, and then turned to face him. “Thank you,” she said, feeling uncharacteristically sheepish.

Jamie nodded, pressing a shameless hand against his chest. “What can I say? I’m nothing if not helpful.”

Actually, he was nothing if not gorgeous and charming and wonderful and she wanted him more with each passing second. Her gaze tangled with his and the breath seemed to thin in her lungs. A hot cocktail of seduction and sex was imminent. She could feel it every time that somnolent gaze raked over her. Her skin prickled and her belly fluttered with unstable air. She was a wreck, Audrey decided. A sexually frustrated wreck.

“Where do you want me?” Jamie asked.

Audrey blinked. “What?”

He laughed, the sound intimate and darkly sexy. “For my massage,” he explained.

Well, they could save a lot of time by merely moving things to her bedroom, but she supposed she should at least give the impression of not being a complete pushover and administer the massage in the living room on her massage table.

“I, uh…” She jerked her finger toward the other room. “I’ll just go set it up.”

“Audrey?”

She turned on her heel, but before she could take a single step, Jamie stopped her with a mere touch of his hand.

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said softly, the comment rife with double meaning. Though the smile was the same charming grin he always wore, there was a sweet sincerity in his gaze which made her silly heart melt like a pat of butter over a hot bun. He was giving her an out, a get-out-of-sex free card.

The trouble was…she didn’t want one.

The first time he’d kissed her, he’d asked permission, but she wasn’t gentleman enough to give him any such courtesy. Audrey leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his neck and laid a kiss on him she knew would dispel any doubts about what she wanted or her intentions. “Come on,” she finally told him. “It’s time for me to work some of those kinks out for you.”

A wicked chuckle rumbled up his throat. “Be gentle.”

“Oh, believe me,” she assured him. “I’m nothing if not gentle.”

* * *

F
OR
THE
FIRST
TIME
in his life Jamie was stuck with a true moral dilemma. To seduce or not seduce? Technically, since she had no intention of marrying Derrick, he could dub this mission successful and go home. He’d be free, Jamie realized. He would have paid his debt to the Colonel, could officially cut ties with his past and move forward. That was the lie he’d been propagating, at any rate. There was nothing to gain for his so-called cause if he seduced her.

And yet for reasons he didn’t dare explore, he knew—
knew
—that
he
had everything to gain… and even more to lose if he didn’t.

Besides, the first touch of her cool fingers against his back set a path into motion he didn’t have a prayer of changing. It would have been like trying to route a detour in the middle of a bridge—pointless.

“Remind me to thank Tewanda,” Jamie told her, his voice low and rusty to his own ears.

Audrey chuckled softly, kneading the muscles in his shoulders with small, competent, surprisingly strong hands. “Me, too,” Audrey said. “Though I wanted to throttle her when she first suggested this.”

“Really?” Jamie asked. “You mean speaking through gritted teeth isn’t how you normally express excitement and joy?” he teased, remembering her murderous expression that first night in the lodge.

She laughed, skimmed her nails down his spine, eliciting a shiver of delight. “Noticed that, did you?”

He grunted wryly. “It was hard to miss.”

“And yet you wouldn’t let it go,” Audrey added. “I wonder why,” she mused aloud, her conversational tone rife with exaggerated humor.

Jamie felt another laugh rattle his belly. “I would think it would be obvious. I wanted your hands on my body,” he murmured softly. “Like they are now.”

He heard a stuttering breath leak out of her lungs, felt her touch grow a little bolder. She rubbed and kneaded, methodically working his muscles until they were melting under her exquisite touch. Meanwhile another muscle below his waistline was anything but melting. He felt her fingers trace an inverted heart, then linger and outline the tattoo on his right shoulder blade.

Sonofabitch,
Jamie thought, involuntarily tensing. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, braced himself, knowing she would ask. And knowing that he was in no shape to resist.

“Oh.” She sighed softly, her heart in her voice. “Who was Danny?”

A fist of pain tightened in Jamie’s chest. Unbidden images from that horrible night flashed like a broken projector through his brain. He tried to stop it, tried to push it away, but failed.

Danny’s bloodstained chest, a huge gaping wound littered with torn cloth and sand. “Leave me, dammit! Leave me! You know it’s over!”

Panic, fear and adrenaline rushed through Jamie’s bloodstream, making Danny’s 240-plus pound body feel virtually weightless. Jamie’s heart threatened to pound right out of his chest and the urge to weep was almost more than he could bear. He had to get Danny to the truck—if he could only get him to the truck, they’d be safe. He almost tripped. Righted himself. Kept going. “It’s not over until I say it’s over.”

Bullets whizzed by, spraying up sand. “Goddammit, Jamie! Leave me. There’s no p-point in us both d-dying out here.”

“I won’t leave you,” Jamie had growled, running until his lungs had burned and he’d had to swallow the urge to retch. Then he’d looked down into his friend’s pale blood-speckled face and told the biggest lie of his life. “You aren’t going to die, dammit. I’ve got you. Just hang on.”

“Jamie?”

Audrey’s soft voice penetrated the waking nightmare.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her fingers still hovering over his tattoo, his memorial to a fallen friend—an eagle with a ribbon and the inscription “In Memory of Danny Boy” trailing from its beak.

No, he wasn’t okay. He would never be okay. He’d failed to keep his friend’s back. It was his fault Danny’d been hit and his fault that he hadn’t gotten him to safety.

He was a murderer by default and nothing would ever change that.

“Oh, Jamie,” she said, bending down to kiss his back. “Give it to me and let me help you,” she implored softly. “Tell me about Danny.”

For one blind horrifying instant he was struck with the impulse to do just that. That was her specialty, after all. Taking damaged people and fixing them. If he opened himself up to her, could she heal him? Jamie wondered. Could she mend the yawning hole in his soul? For whatever reason, he knew if there was a person on the planet who could do just that, it was her. Jamie swallowed. Being with Audrey, something as simple as sharing the same air, made him feel more human and more alive than he had in months.

Unfortunately he wasn’t worthy of healing—he didn’t deserve it—and even more importantly, he wouldn’t become one of those “life-suckers” who drained her that the Colonel had told him about.