To the Limit (24 page)

He clenched his jaw. And told himself that if he valued his life, he'd just back away from that little fantasy while the backing was still good.

"You doing OK?" he asked in a whisper so as not to disturb Sven and Kat, who had taken their kisses a little past the tender-mercy stage.

"F... fine," she said in an absent, throaty whisper.

From the seat across from them he heard a pleasured groan, couldn't help but notice that one of Kat's long legs was now draped across Sven's lap and the Swede's big hand was gently kneading the back of her thigh and riding higher and higher.

Mac managed a strangled croak just as he felt a small hand land lightly on the top of his thigh. Hot as a firebrand.

He snapped his gaze to Eve's face—only to see her gaze was riveted on the couple across from them. She wasn't even aware that she was touching him.

He was.

Gawd
damn
was he aware.

Just like he was aware that the air in the back of the limo was currently dosed with enough testosterone to fill a pro football locker room on game day. The estrogen level was spiking off the charts, too.

Slender fingers loosely clenched his thigh, then dug in deep, like cat claws, and his leg was her own personal scratching post. And the leather pressure factor became almost unbearable. He looked from her face to her hand and damn near busted a vein when she pressed the heel of her palm into muscle and drove toward bone.

Mother.

When she did it again, then again, setting a rhythm so closely matching the one he'd imagined setting as he pumped into her, he swallowed back a groan and calculated the likelihood of him getting out of his pants before he exploded.

And when he slowly dragged his gaze up, past her amazing breasts, along the length of her slender throat to her perfect profile, he mouthed another silent plea for help. Her attention was rapt on Kat and Sven as she caught her full lower lip between her teeth and drew a breath that was deep and thready and blatantly erotic.

Her grip on his thigh was sensuous and so completely unconscious, there was no way in hell she was aware of what she was doing.

Watching them.

Touching him.

Driving him out of his ever-loving mind.

On a serrated breath he covered her hand with his. Waited, heart pounding, for her to come to her senses and shove it away. When she only gripped his leg tighter, he lost it. He pressed his hand against the back of hers and nudged it higher. And higher. Higher still until,
sweet torture,
her pinkie brushed against his codpiece.

He jerked so hard at the instant and violent pleasure, she jumped, whipped her gaze his way, and blinked like she'd just come out of a trance.

When she realized where her hand was, she snatched it away, turned a luscious shade of hot pink, and averted her gaze to the window.

Mac sat there. Rigid as steel. His cock twitching, his balls tingling, as every drop of blood in his body pooled to his groin and screamed for action.

He felt like doing a little screaming, too.

Thank God the limo pulled to a stop about that time. He ran an unsteady hand across his lower face and tried to regulate his breathing. He almost had a handle on it when the door opened and he was treated to the view of Eve Garrett's premium ass pointed directly his way as she scrambled to get out of the limo.

Covering his face with both hands, he squeezed his eyes shut and committed the sight to memory.

"You coming, Mac?" he heard Sven ask several moments later.

He opened his eyes, realized he was the last man sitting, and with great difficulty managed to exit the car.

"Get me out of these fucking pants," he growled.

Sven grinned and slapped him on the back. "Just as soon as I figure out a way to get out of mine."

Kat poured orange juice into goblets while Sven set platters of food on an elegant glass and chrome dining table positioned near a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that framed an incredible view of the 4:00 a.m. lights glistening in the city.

"Sit. Eat," Kat offered graciously. "After what we've been through, we need to refuel. And Sven makes the best breakfast on any continent."

Eve sat down opposite McClain and tried to avoid eye contact. Anything to keep her mind off what had happened in the limo. Anything to settle the irrational beat of her heart and the hot, pulsing ache settled low in her belly.

And then there was the voice mail that she'd picked up a few minutes ago. She made it a habit to check her home voice mail when she was out on assignment, but this was the first chance she'd had to do it.

Next time there might not be someone to save you. Or next time it might be someone else's blood on your hands. Will you figure it out in time to stop the bleeding?

She tried not to think about the message now. McClain made it fairly easy. He'd taken his turn in Kat's guest bathroom after Eve had. They'd both showered off the stench of the episode at Forbidden. Like hers, McClain's hair was still wet; like her, he'd changed back into his street clothes. He smelled healthy and clean and male. And she was having a heck of a time not picturing him naked and wet under the shower spray.

All four of them, in fact, had cleaned up before reassembling in the dining room. Judging from the rosy flush painting Kat's cheeks and from Sven's loose-limbed ease and intimate smile, however, the two of them had also taken the time to find a mutually satisfying way to tone down the edgy tension that had followed them out of Oracle.

Lucky them.

Horny her.

Chemistry. Who needed it? Who needed the trouble you had to deal with in the aftermath? And sex with McClain— no matter how hot the prospect—would lead to nothing but trouble.

Sex with McClain. God. It had come to that. She was actually considering going to bed with him. If for no other reason than to dull this edge of painfully acute arousal.

Aftermath,
she reminded herself, shoving her fork around on a plate heaped with sausage and eggs and toast.
Remember the aftermath.
But the problem was, the human condition dealt with
aftermath
the same way it dealt with pain. There was a tendency to forget about pain once it passed, just like there was a tendency to forget about dealing with the aftermath when the present was so vital and all-consuming.

And she
was
consumed with McClain. It was a tough pill to swallow, but ever since that kiss in Time Squared and their encounter in the backseat of the limo, she hadn't been able to get her mind off of him. Was alive with thoughts of him.

She should be exhausted. She'd started out yesterday at 6:00 a.m. in Key West, driven back to West Palm, then flown to New York. Since then, she'd experienced a host of fun-filled adventures, and now, at 4:00 a.m.—twenty-two hours later—she was still awake. And she was wired for sound.

It was McClain's fault that she could still taste that kiss. Could still see him decked out in black leather, tearing into the pack of ghouls who'd been about to do any number of despicable things to Kat. She'd been pretty intent on getting to Kat herself, but that hadn't kept Eve from appreciating the spectacle of Tyler McClain in full battle mode. Those creeps hadn't stood a chance. He'd been a machine, running on sleek, pumped muscle and sheer, raw guts.

At that moment, he wouldn't have cared if the odds had been a hundred to one. He'd have taken them all on. And he'd have bested them. His outrage had been primal. He'd been fearless, focused, and nothing short of death would have stopped him. She'd seen the same heroic qualities in her brothers. Admired them for it. Generally, they were her biggest pains in the ass, but always,
always,
they were her heroes.

While she hadn't wanted to recognize those traits in McClain, the episode at Oracle had forced her to. He was cut from the same bolt of cloth as her brothers and her father. What he'd done—going after Kat alone—had smacked of courage and honor. And heroism.

And it royally ticked her off.

She didn't want to see him as anything but what she'd long ago decided he was. Immature. Self-absorbed. Self-serving.

But too many times in the last two days he'd shown her another side. A heroic side that made it difficult to tuck him way high up on that shelf where she stowed the rest of the triple-A's who'd screwed with her life.

That he was a warrior had always been apparent. It was in his DNA. That he was principled hadn't been. Now it was. Now he was about finding Tiffany because she was in trouble. It wasn't about the job or the money for him anymore.

And it had been with a noble rage that he'd saved Kat—not just bloodlust or the love of a fight.

Eve had no doubt that if he knew about the attempts on her life, he'd go into battle mode for her.

Crap. She didn't want that.

And he had a little girl who tugged at his heart, a heart Eve hadn't wanted to believe existed.

Double crap. What if her problems ended up getting McClain hurt? Then what would happen to his little girl?

"It's not good?"

Startled out of her thoughts, she looked up into Sven's frowning eyes.

"I'm sorry. What?"

"Your omelet? It's not good? You're not eating."

"Oh. Sorry. I guess I'm just preoccupied."

"With Tiffany," Kat put in.

Close enough. "Yeah. With Tiffany." She cut a glance at McClain, saw that he was watching her with both question and heat in his eyes, and felt her cheeks flush pink before getting a grip.

Actually, in between lusting over this new and troubling version of McClain and trying to deal with her reactions toward him, she
had
been thinking about Tiffany. She'd been thinking about her a lot. More so because of the threats to her own life than in spite of them.

She sat back in her chair. "Tell me about your GPS. What kind of range are we talking about?"

"Nationwide," Sven provided as he rocked back in his chair, reached behind him, and grabbed something that looked like a cell phone off the kitchen counter. "This is the tracking unit."

He handed it to Eve, who looked it over, then gave it to McClain to inspect.

"The only problem is, she has to have the cell phone turned on for us to get a fix on her location."

"It was off when I shoved it in her skirt," Kat said. "I didn't think. Didn't have time, really, to turn it on."

"Actually, that may be for the best," McClain said, familiarizing himself with the unit, messing with the settings. "I'm assuming several people have your cell number?"

Kat nodded when he glanced at her.

"Then having it on now would defeat the purpose if Tiffany is to have any advantage. That sucker would start ringing; it'd surprise her and alert Reno that she's got it. With it off and with a little luck, she'll realize what you've given her before Reno does. She can pick her time to call you."

Kat nodded again. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Does she know the phone has GPS capabilities?"

Kat frowned, her beautiful face pinched in thought. "I can't think of any reason why she would. We just got the unit recently and I don't remember telling her about it. Truly, it's been months since I've seen her. When we did talk on the phone, it was only briefly."

"OK," McClain said, drawing the word out thoughtfully. "It might work to our advantage that she's unaware of the GPS as well."

"How so?"

"For starters, it might spook her if she thinks she's being tracked. It's hard telling what frame of mind she'll be in even if she sobers up. And if Reno goes on the move again and Tiffany does manage to call you, all you need to do is keep her on the line long enough to get a fix on her location."

"And notify you," Sven concluded.

"Right. Eve and I can take it from there."

"But she doesn't know you," Kat said, looking at Mac with concern. "And she's angry with you," she said with a sad look at Eve. "She trusts me. I want to be with you when you find her."

"Why don't we just take a wait-and-see approach at this point?" Eve suggested. "We don't even know that she'll call. Or who she'll call. Kat, are your home phone and Sven's cell programmed into your cell's phone book?"