Worth the Trip (34 page)

Trip wasn’t used to hope. He dealt with the Criminal Element, and the Criminal Element had only one motive: look out for Number One, which meant he pretty much knew what to expect going in.

Norah had been . . . not just good, perfect. Not so much as a smudge on her record going all the way back to kindergarten. Even now, with proof, he had a hard time believing she’d gone bad. Apparently fifty million dollars could do that to a person, even a perfect one.

“I’m not in the mood for games,” he said.

Norah lifted her chin, keeping her gaze level on his. She didn’t say a word, or make a peep, but he could see the pain in her eyes. It shamed him.

“Time for that explanation you promised me,” he said, letting her go.

She rubbed her arms, looking mutinous. “I changed my mind. You don’t deserve one.”

“Start talking.”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll take you in.”

“Great, take me in. That’s why I’m in Washington anyway.”

Trip took a step back, physically and mentally. “What are you up to now?”

“You want me to stop playing games? The games are over.” She took a step forward. “You win. Arrest me.”

He held his ground, his mind racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out what angle she was playing now.

She held out her wrists and stepped forward, so close her fingers brushed his chest. “Go ahead,” she said, “cuff me.”

It was the last straw. He put his hands around her wrists, yanked her against him, and kissed her.

And she kissed him back, God help her. She fought his grip, but her mouth was wild on his, and he pulled her hands out from between them, staking her wrists to the door and trapping her body with his while he plundered her mouth. She twisted, fought, protested, and when none of that worked she nipped his bottom lip.

He pulled back, letting her go and covering his mouth with a hand that shook, staring at her and realizing he’d almost crossed a line. “I’m sorry, Norah,” he began, the rest of his breath wheezing out when she whipped her shirt off and then her bra, her gaze holding his.

He forgot about being gentle, heat exploding through him again, fueled by anger and a need so overwhelming it stole his breath, his control, everything but the clawing drive to have her. He scooped her up and dropped her on the lumpy bed, stripping her jeans off but ignoring his own clothes because he had to get his hands on her, watch the way her skin flushed and glowed as he touched her, a little roughly but not to punish. Not anymore.

No matter who she might be the rest of the time, at least here she was honest. And amazing, reacting to even the lightest touch of his fingertips. Her hands fisted in the threadbare coverlet, her body bowing as he covered her breasts with his hands, palming her nipples before he took one hard peak into his mouth. She gasped, crying out when he slipped two fingers into her, her breath coming fast and short as she rose to peak, as she went stiff, and he felt her climax rip through her. It was all he could do to keep from taking her, hard and fast, taking his pleasure as she’d taken hers. He didn’t want to rush, though he ached from head to toe with the depth of his need. There was no point in returning to reality any sooner than he had to.

He collapsed onto the bed next to Norah, and after a moment or two he felt her touch his cheek, hesitantly. It killed him that she wasn’t sure, even here, so he covered her hand with his and turned his lips into the palm of her hand.

“Trip . . .” she whispered.

“What?” he said without opening his eyes.

“Nothing.” Even if she’d known what to say and how to say it, he wouldn’t have believed her anyway, and if she were foolish enough to bare her heart and he rejected her . . . Well, she’d never get over it.

So she settled for showing him, slipping her hands under his T-shirt and easing it off as he half lifted to help her, then popping the button on his jeans and unzipping them, very slowly, so slowly he cracked one eye open, looking like he was in pain, which made her laugh even though when she got his pants off she could believe he was in pain.

“At least you stopped laughing,” he said, his voice low and raspy, but teasing, which almost broke her heart, but then she decided not to think about what would happen after. She intended to make love with him, even if all the love was on her side.

“Definitely not a laughing matter,” she said, teasing him back.

“Definitely not,” he said, pulling her down beside him.

But Norah was done being passive, not that passive didn’t have its benefits—which were still buzzing along her nerve endings—but she wanted to do for Trip what he’d done for her.

She got to her knees, running her nails lightly along his chest, loving the way he groaned, loving how his breath wheezed out when she took him into her hands, loving him, even when he reared up and said, “Now,” and took her waist in his hands and pushed her onto her back. She didn’t object or take offense. Words were beyond her, too, as he surged into her, hard and fast, and she forgot how to breathe and how to think. Everything was gone but feeling. A dozen different sensations overwhelmed her, the heat of his skin and the feel of muscle sliding under it as she moved her hands to his back, the weight of him bearing her down into the mattress, his fingers moving from her waist to her hips, biting in for a second before he scooped them under her backside and lifted her. He drove into her, deeper this time, so deep she arched, her hands clutching at him and slipping off his sweat-slicked skin as the breath locked into her lungs and there was only the slap of his body against hers, the friction of him stroking in and out, harder and faster as her body coiled tighter and then erupted, another orgasm tearing her into glittering shreds of pure, unbearable pleasure as he buried himself deep and came with a groan that sounded like it was ripped from the soles of his feet.

Norah’s hands slid from his back and fell limply to the mattress, the rest of her feeling just as wrung out, weak and weightless and sated, so gloriously sated she barely found the energy to slide up to the pillows when Trip nudged her. She made it, though, forgetting her dinner, forgetting the loot, so exhausted she even let go of the tension between her and Trip.

He didn’t. She felt him pick up her wrist and then there was the shock of cold metal, the rasp as he closed the handcuff over her wrist, putting the other one on himself.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him from dry sockets, the pain so deep and intense and hot it seared the tears away before they could form.

“You think I’m going to sneak out in the middle of the night?”

“I think I’m too tired to wake up if you try it.”

“After . . .” She shook her head, closed her eyes, not, she realized after all, too destroyed to cry.

The bed dipped next to her as Trip climbed in. He spooned himself behind her, his cuffed hand slipping over her waist to cover her cuffed hand.

She couldn’t bear it. The parody of love and trust broke her heart. She pushed away from him, threw off the covers, and tried to search for her clothes. Of course Trip stayed where he was so she came up short.

“Norah?” he said quietly.

She sat on the edge of the bed, shutting her eyes until she could get the pain under control. And the tears. “I’d like to get dressed,” she finally said, almost without a hitch.

“Come back to bed. You can get dressed in the morning.”

“I need to get dressed now. I can’t—” She spied Trip’s jeans, one leg over the bottom corner of the bed, and when she stretched until her wrist screamed in pain, she managed to grab them. The key to the cuff was in the pocket.

She unlocked the cuff on his wrist, ignoring the surprise and suspicion on his face. There were bigger issues to dwell on.

“You think I had sex with you so I could escape,” she said as she gathered her clothes and stuffed herself into them. “I’m not that pathetic.”

“I didn’t—”

“And you’re not that irresistible. I realize it’s been a while, and I’m not—I was never—I’m just a lonely college professor who writes about relationships instead of having them, but I don’t use people.”

“Contrary to appearances.”

“I would have thought you knew me better by now. I was wrong. You’re not that smart.”

“Norah.”

She zipped her jeans, still refusing to look at him.

“Norah.” He caught her arm, swung her around to face him. “I didn’t sleep with you because I felt sorry for you. I don’t think you’re lonely and pathetic.”

“What
do
you think?” she asked, meeting his eyes for the first time since she’d gotten out of bed.

Trip was the one who looked away. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Yes, you do. You just refuse to face it.” She jammed her feet into her shoes and whipped the blanket off the bed. “That’s fine. After tomorrow it will be over for good and you can go your way and I’ll go mine.”

Trip didn’t say anything, not even when she collected a pillow and settled into the single chair by the window, cuffing herself to the ancient radiator on that wall. He looked miserable, but that didn’t matter either.

After their visit to the FBI building tomorrow, he’d head out on his next assignment, and she’d go back to Chicago and decide what to do with the rest of her life. Which she’d spend alone, at least until she could get over him. It wasn’t going to be easy. Not because of him, she added mutinously, because of her. She didn’t fall in love easily. Falling out would be even harder.

On the bright side, it would give her a whole new perspective when she wrote her next book. Like she’d told Hollie Roget on her talk show, success was a wonderful thing, especially when it came to love. But it was failure, and how you dealt with it, that defined your character.

Her character had gotten all the definition it could stand for one lifetime.

WHEN NORAH WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING
Trip was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed, holding the package she’d gotten the day they’d met. She closed her eyes, absorbing a fresh wave of pain, and when she opened them again, he hadn’t moved, but she felt steadier. And she was sure there was no soft emotion on her face. She’d made that decision last night, handcuffed to the radiator, reminded of his betrayal every time she heard the clank of metal and felt the cuff cut into her wrist.

Trip didn’t trust her, so the hell with him. Maybe she’d gone out of her way to make it appear she’d played him false, and maybe they’d only known each other a couple of weeks, and it probably wasn’t fair of her to expect him to know her so well in such a short period of time. But she did. He was good at reading people—not just good, incredibly skilled, and he’d spent that entire two weeks practically in her back pocket. He’d complained, those first couple of days, about how direct she was. He’d commented when she’d proved she could con people. He should have understood her game.

The fact that he was sitting there with a vacuum-sealed bag of stolen jewelry, condemnation on his face, told her he’d let her down. She didn’t know why he had such a huge blind spot where she was concerned. She didn’t want to know.

She sat up, stiff and sore from sleeping in an awkward position in an uncomfortable chair. Except, she realized when she unthinkingly lifted both hands to rub her neck, the cuffs were gone.

Her gaze cut to Trip’s, another automatic reflex she regretted. But she refused to look away.

“I tried to put you in bed, but you wouldn’t let me,” he said, confirming that he’d taken the cuffs off sometime during the night.

“Am I supposed to thank you?”

He shrugged.

“I see you invaded my privacy, too.” She held up a hand before he could respond. “I know, criminals aren’t allowed any privacy. I hope that doesn’t extend to the bathroom.”

She stood, a little unsteadily. Trip got to his feet as well, and moved to block her way.

“There’s no window in there, where do you think I’m going?”

“Norah.” He blew out a breath, reaching out to brush the hair back from her face.

She stepped back. She couldn’t afford to let him touch her, but she kept her gaze level on his.

“Can we talk? There are things I need to say.”

“I think we covered everything last night. I won’t be long,” she added as she slipped by him, but she took her time washing her face and brushing her teeth, making herself as presentable as she could. Just because she was going to jail didn’t mean she had to let her appearance go.

It was a thought that made her smile a little, cheering her because it reminded her that she was still really in charge. Trip could handcuff her and drag her into the FBI, but it wouldn’t change the outcome. She’d planned it too well, worked out what Lucius would call the long con and executed it to perfection, because Trip was right, she was her father’s daughter. But she was also her mother’s.

 

AN HOUR LATER SHE FOUND HERSELF SITTING IN
a chair in front of Mike Kovaleski’s scarred desk, in his office, deep in the J. Edgar Hoover Building, FBI headquarters, Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C. Trip lounged against the wall behind her. Mike hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived. He just sat there, staring at her with his inscrutable Marine expression under Marine-cut hair going gray. Arms that probably had a Marine tattoo on the biceps were crossed over his wide chest.

“Where’s the loot?” he finally said in a voice that sounded like he was chewing rock and definitely brooked no argument.

“First things first,” she said, grateful he didn’t have a gun since he clearly wasn’t used to being disobeyed and he
really
didn’t like it.

“I could charge you with obstruction of justice.”

“Threats didn’t work the last time we spoke. What do you think has changed?”

He shot Trip a look.

Norah resisted the urge to do the same.

“Home turf advantage,” Mike said.