Thieves In The Night (14 page)

Chantal was glued to the other side of the door, listening and praying. If he stayed, she was a goner.
Please go, Jaz. Don’t do this to me. Don’t tear me apart and ask for things I can’t give.

She hadn’t left the room in anger as much as fear. The first sight of him had shaken her fury down to irritation. His absurdly confident smile had threatened even that justifiable emotion. She didn’t have enough conviction to keep turning him away, time after time. Not when he continued coming back from out of nowhere to muddle her senses with just a look from those ever-changing gray eyes. There ought to be a law against that much persuasive charm in one man, that much warmth in one pair of eyes, that much sensuality in one body.

Only silence greeted her straining ears, and she knew she was lost. But she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Rummaging through her closet, she pulled out a dove-gray cotton fleece jump suit, the outfit Elise referred to as “that sweat-suit thing.” Actually, it had a lot more style than a sweat suit. The cuffs were knitted, but the ankles tightened with Velcro tabs and the waist was elasticized.

She undressed and ran a warm washcloth over the back of her neck, twisting and turning her head from side to side to ease the knots of tension. Then she washed her face and plowed a few more pins into her hair. She had planned on soaking in the bathtub until the hot water gave out, but with Jaz waiting in the living room she didn’t dare.

After dressing, and feeling only marginally more fortified, she swung the door open and strode back into the main cabin. The best defense was a good offense, and she wasn’t going to give him a chance to dissuade her, but he beat her to the punch.

“I brought Chinese.” He lifted his chopsticks and grinned his most heart-flipping smile. He knew that finding his way to her heart through her stomach was a long shot at best—he’d practically doubled the contents of her refrigerator with the four bits of lime—but at least his opener wasn’t a plea or an ultimatum.

Damn him, she thought, her mouth tightening in resentment. He was smiling on purpose, deepening the irresistible creases in his cheeks, tilting his head back to just the right angle for the firelight to burnish his skin to dark copper.

She knew very well that he’d brought Chinese. The hot, spicy scent was wreaking havoc on her taste buds. “I already had dinner, thank you. Now, if—”

“I brought tequila,” he interrupted, waving the bottle in a tempting arc.

Momentarily disconcerted, she gave him a dubious glance. “Tequila? And Chinese?”

“And I saved you an egg roll.” He lifted a carton in the other hand.

Egg roll. He would save her an egg roll. Maybe food wasn’t such a bad idea. It had been over a day and a night since her last real meal.

“And I have some more information on the Sandhurst deal.” He sweetened the pot and his smile, turning down the seductive charm and going for pure innocence.

She could handle him, she thought with more conviction than she knew was sensible. On measured steps she rounded the sofa, plucked the egg roll carton out of his hand, and sat down on the rug at what she considered a safe distance—as if there were such a thing where Jaz Peterson was concerned.

The first bite was ambrosial, crisp and crunchy on the outside, lightly spiced shrimp and cabbage on the inside. When she was licking her fingers for every last crumb, he handed her a half-empty carton of chow mein with a pair of chopsticks sticking out of the top.

Food did make a marvelous difference in her worldly outlook, she admitted, and she managed a small smile before slurping up a bite of the delicacy. While she finished the chow mein and started in on the sweet and sour pork, he twisted the cap off the tequila.

She watched with growing interest as he moistened the fold of skin between his forefinger and thumb, shook salt on the damp spot, and licked it up. His tongue picked up a few straying crystals off his lip, and he gave her a quick wink before tilting the bottle up for a long swallow.

His eyes squinted closed, and he gave his head one hard shake, sending a swath of sun-streaked chestnut hair over his brow. “Good stuff,” he rasped out, coming up for air.

Concealed laughter shook her sides as he dropped the lime in his mouth and bit down. A few more shots like that, she thought, and she’d be able to handle him with her eyes closed.

Handle him with her eyes closed? Dangerous analogy, she realized when her imagination immediately supplied a number of mental visions of how she could handle him with her eyes closed—her fingers splayed over his taut belly, her other hand running over the supple muscles of his back and pulling him closer and closer.

“Tell me about Sandhurst,” she said abruptly, banishing the images with the force of her words.

He pitched the lime into the fire, where it sputtered. Then he pulled his bare feet beneath him and scooted forward until his knees were almost touching hers. Handle him? she wondered. Maybe. Handle herself? That was the big unknown. Where had all her anger gone?

“He officially called off the alarm at the security place last night.”

Jaz was much too close. His hands were clasped around the tequila bottle in the cradle of his legs, elbows lazily propped on his knees. She could actually feel the heat of his healthy male body radiating around her.

“I already knew that. I ran into Angela Sandhurst at the Orleans.” As surreptitiously as possible she put the sweet and sour carton on the hearth and inched back a fraction.

“Bad night, huh?”

“Disaster with a capital
D
,” she admitted.

“Has Elise put two and two together yet?”

“And come up with a perfect four. I think it’s safe to assume I am now among the ranks of the unemployed.”

“Did you hock your coat?”

So he had noticed. Try as she might, there was no simple explanation for leaving her coat at the Orleans, and she didn’t want to reveal the truth about that messy situation. “Not exactly,” she replied.

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll hire you. I could use someone with your talents in my business.” And in my life, he added mentally.

“Sorry, Jaz, I don’t see myself tracking down wayward wives in Mexico,” she said wryly.

“I’ll give you the husbands. There’re more of them, anyway.” She shot him a skeptical glance. “And it wouldn’t be Mexico. I’ve been thinking about coming home.”

“Home?” Her curiosity was definitely aroused, and this time she wasn’t going to squelch it. Curiosity was allowed between friends.

“You’re looking at a Colorado native, born and bred. Air Force Academy, the works.”

“Air Force Academy,” she repeated slowly, her sapphire eyes widening in admiration, or so he thought until she added slowly, “You must have
really
screwed up.”

That was one way to put it, he thought derisively. Somebody had to get the ball rolling, and it looked like he’d been chosen. But she hadn’t kicked him out yet, and that was the important thing. “I didn’t think so at the time. You want a shot of this?”

In answer, she picked up the bottle and he handed her the salt shaker and a wedge of lime. What harm could there be in one shot of tequila? she asked herself. And, she admitted, a shot of anything would feel good. The food had certainly helped calm her nerves.

Following his actions, she licked up the salt on her hand and swallowed the tequila in one gulp, one fiery gulp. Tears welled in her eyes, and she couldn’t squeeze the lime juice into her mouth fast enough.

“Whew!” she gasped, imitating his reaction and adding a shimmy shake of her shoulders. “This is the good stuff?”

“The best.” The absolute best, he thought, watching the shake of her shoulders ripple down to her breasts. No bra. The memory of her in his mouth tightened his gut better than any dream. He would have loved to see her small breasts and slender shoulders bare, with only a strap of something silky falling off them. To distract himself, to keep from moving in on her, he picked up the thread of his story.

“We were doing reconnaissance for a jet-fighter deal with one of our allies in the Middle East, real cloak-and-dagger. A few of us were kind of out there holding it together on our own. Looking back, I’ll admit we overstepped our authority on the deal, operated out of bounds.” Suddenly it dawned on him that he was still staring at her breasts. Grinning sheepishly, he glanced up at her face. An enchanting flush had stained her cheeks to deep rose. Either the tequila was taking effect or she was aware of where his mind had been. He liked both options, wanting her to relax a little and wanting her to feel the same tension that was driving him crazy.

“I was gung ho back then,” he continued, “a lot younger. When the deal went bad, heads rolled. Mine was one of the first.” Without any bidding the ancient memory surfaced, and his voice took on a sarcastic edge. “The military is real democratic about these things. They start at the bottom and try to lose as little brass as possible. General Moore saved me from the total disgrace of a dishonorable discharge. He understood what I’d done, and even why I had done it, but he couldn’t condone it and he couldn’t back me up. The problem was that I didn’t understand what I’d done. I came back disillusioned, angry, and I headed for Mexico.”

He slipped the tequila bottle out of her hand and gave it a long, hard look. “I almost drowned in this stuff, but I just couldn’t quite get the hang of being a total degenerate and alcoholic. I tried”—a teasing smile curved his mouth and put the light back in his eyes—“but I didn’t have it in me. I’ve grown up since then. It’s time to come home.” What he didn’t say was that he’d finally found someone to come home to. She didn’t want to run and he was tired of running. There ought to be a compromise in there somewhere.

“I guess we all make mistakes,” she said softly.

“All of us, Chantal. Young, old, and otherwise, none of us gets through life without piling up our share of regrets.” Maybe now she’d tell him what he already knew, share her burden and let him carry part of the load.

“How long are you staying in Aspen?” she asked.

“For as long as it takes,” he replied cryptically.

Smoky blue eyes lifted to his. “For what?”

“You, me, Sandhurst.” He shrugged, and winced briefly, his mouth twisting. “I’ve got to stop doing that,” he muttered.

“Are you okay?” Concern lowered her voice as she rested the tips of her fingers on his jean-clad calf. “Did you have a doctor look at your shoulder?”

Jaz figured a man came into the world with only so much willpower, and his was slipping. He had to touch her. He picked up her hand in both of his and simply enjoyed the softness of her skin. “I made my drop at Lowry Air Force Base in Denver. One of the doctors there pronounced me ready for action, said we did a pretty good field dressing. I think I can get you the Bronze Star or something.”

How did he do it? she wondered, watching the play of his strong fingers caressing her small hand. How did he draw so much out of her with the lightest of touches? All of her tactile senses pooled into her hand, signaling back the warmth and roughness of his skin, reminding her of other areas equally warm but soft like satin-sheathed steel.

Reluctantly determined not to remember, she pulled her hand out of his. “No medals, Jaz. Please. The last thing I need is to explain to your general what I was doing at Sandhurst’s.”

“I already did that for you.”

The blood drained from her face, the muscles freezing in open-mouthed shock, and she waited for the grim facts of her life to flash before her eyes. Barely managing a breath, she choked out, “You what?”

Completely unperturbed, he grasped her hand again. “I explained”—he drew the word out, gazing at her patiently—“to General Moore, this afternoon, that I needed help last night and, as luck would have it, I found a free-lancer who knew the area and the layout of the mansion. I explained how invaluable your help was, how I wouldn’t have made it without you. How he wouldn’t have his plans back if it weren’t for an incredibly beautiful and brave lady named Chantal Cochard.”

The compliments didn’t register, but something else did, like a ten on the Richter scale, rocking her to the core. “You told him my name?” she cried, on what was surely her last free breath.

“I wanted to make sure you were covered, in case anything happens.”

“You don’t understand.” She jerked free of his grasp and stumbled to her feet. “You’ve ruined me, killed me.” She ran one hand through her hair, pushing it off her face as she began to pace. Jaz let her go, swearing under his breath. He’d forgotten that she thought she had secrets from him. And now was not the time to tell her he’d been digging up information behind her back. Nothing was going to happen to her. He’d covered all the bases before he’d started piling up favors. The bottom-line success of the night’s operation had made him a valuable commodity to General Moore, too valuable to risk losing on a minor’s involvement in a ten-year-old caper that had gone down bad without anything actually being stolen. Propping his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his fists, he watched her pace the small cabin, back and forth, barely getting her stride before she had to turn. Lithe muscles moved under the cotton jump suit, sleek and feline but definitely there, fascinating him on every whirl. Yes, he’d saved the general’s brass the night before, and shortly after midnight he’d known what he wanted in return—the intriguing bottom swinging past him on every seventh step.

Unless he changed his approach, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to get much of it.

“Come here,” he drawled. “Please. Before you wear a hole in the floor.”

Stark blue eyes in a pale face met his across the room, and Jaz wanted to kick himself for causing her so much anxiety.

“Please,” he said again, patting the rug next to his legs. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you because of me, Chantal. Believe me.” He’d make things awfully uncomfortable for General Moore if the man went back on his word, which he wouldn’t. Jaz knew the military game inside and out, and he knew the man he’d entrusted her secrets to. If he’d had any doubts he would have winged it solo, finding out about her past through other means. The most preferable of which would have been her telling him outright.