Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
K elli stared at the gun, then at the hand holding it, and at the arm attached to the hand, and at the face?—
“Open the fucking door, bitch!” the face snarled.
She yelped and scooted back in her seat, for all the good that would do. All her years of self-defense and karate and wrestling large dogs vanished at the sight of a pistol pointed at her head. She screamed, hoping Hank or Mac might hear her.
She closed her eyes, waiting for the gunshot, wishing like hell she’d gone into the store with Mac. He’d been smart enough to lock the door, but would that really stop a sneering stranger with a gun?
Smash!
Apparently not.
Glass pelted her arms and head, and Kelli opened her eyes to see the man drawing his hand back. He’d used the butt of the gun to shatter the driver’s side window, and before she could draw a breath, he yanked open the door and threw himself inside.
Kelli gasped and grabbed for her door handle, but the man threw the locks and lurched out of the parking lot before she could muster a scream. Tires squealed and bits of gravel and glass sputtered behind them. In the rearview mirror she saw Hank running after them, yelling something into the mic on his collar.
“Stop!” she shrieked.
The man laughed and floored the gas. “Nice car,” he said in Spanish, though it took Kelli’s addled brain a few minutes to process the words. “Worth a lot of money. Maybe more than you.”
She screamed and tried to grab the wheel, not sure what she intended to do. It didn’t matter. The carjacker raised the pistol, effectively ending any plans she might’ve had. She flew backward into her seat as the carjacker gunned the engine.
“Sit there and shut up!” he barked.
He glanced at her, then did a double take before flicking his gaze back to the road. “Nice wedding dress. Your husband, he must have a lot of money?”
“Please, just let me go,” Kelli pleaded, frantically scanning the road up ahead. They were headed east, she thought, but God only knew where they were going. Everything was happening fast. Maybe if she could reach her purse and her phone?—
“Sit back and stop moving around. You’re worth the same dead or alive.”
“Please, let me go?—”
“That’s not the plan here.”
“Well what is the plan?” she snapped, trying to keep her voice even. “I need to put it in my calendar and make sure my schedule is clear.”
The man sneered. “You’re funny.”
He banked hard around a corner, still accelerating. She shot a frantic glance behind them, looking for landmarks, trying to remember which way they were headed so she could alert Mac or whoever they called for ransom.
If I live that long.
The carjacker screeched around another corner before pulling a phone out of his pocket. He punched a few keys, then spoke in rapid-fire Spanish infused with so much slang, Kelli understood only a few words, including Town Car, bride, and inexplicably, cheese.
The man punched the phone off and leered at her as he rounded another bend in the road. “It’s my lucky day. We’ve got a buyer all lined up.”
“For me or the car?”
The man cackled, and Kelli felt her skin crawl. Where was her purse? She’d tossed it in the backseat when Mac picked her up at the clinic. Maybe she could pretend she needed a tissue. Maybe if she just reached back?—
“Fuck,” the man snarled as a fruit truck careened into the road ahead of them. He jammed his foot on the brake, and Kelli threw her hands on the dashboard, wondering if she should buckle up or flip the locks and make a run for it somehow. They were still moving fast, maybe thirty miles an hour. If she could just get the door unlocked?—
Thunk!
Something red splattered across the windshield, and she screamed.
It took her three seconds to realize she was screaming at a tomato.
Thunk!
Another tomato, and another, followed by an oblong zucchini and something that might have been a persimmon. “What the hell?” the carjacker yelled, swerving to avoid a hail of flying fruit. He jammed the brake harder, slowing the car to a crawl. Now was Kelli’s chance to make a run for it. She grabbed the door handle and?—
Smash!
She screamed as more glass shattered, the windshield this time. She threw her arm up to shield her face, conscious of the glass pelting her, the car shrieking to a halt, the echo of a voice she’d know anywhere.
“Hands in the air right now, or I’ll blow your motherfucking head off.”
Kelli dropped her arm and blinked, taking in the rush of air through the windshield, the pile of glass on the dashboard, the reek of cantaloupe in her lap, and the sight of her fake fiancé crouched on the hood of the car.
“Mac!” she cried, registering the pistol gripped in one hand, the honeydew melon in the other.
Mac kept his gun trained on the driver, but stole a glance at Kelli, his eyes performing a hasty scan of her body. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Good.” He set the melon on the hood of the car, but the gun didn’t waver. “I might let this sonofabitch live and call the cops.”
Mac barked something into a radio on his collar. Before Kelli could ask what he was doing, Hank’s car screeched to a halt behind them, blocking any chance the carjacker might have had to make a getaway. Hank jumped out of the car and marched to Mac’s side. Mac jerked his chin at the driver, who was still frozen in place with his hands in the air and a dumbfounded expression on his face.
“Find out who this dickhead is,” Mac ordered. “Common car thief, or someone we should give a shit about. Then pay Pablo over there for the use of his truck, driving skills, and fresh produce.”
Hank nodded and jerked the car door open. Bright metal flashed in his hand, and Kelli realized he’d drawn his gun. She watched as he hauled the carjacker to his feet and shoved him toward the fruit truck. The two men disappeared around the vehicle and out of sight.
Kelli looked at Mac and swallowed. “How did you?—”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mac asked, jumping off the hood of the car and swinging himself into the driver’s seat so fast Kelli barely saw him move. Still holding the gun, he began to pat her down, inspecting for injuries. She gasped as his hands moved along her rib cage.
“That hurt?”
“No. Just ticklish.” She shivered as his palms lingered there beneath her breasts.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to smash the windshield. I just needed to get the sonofabitch to stop. Does this hurt here?”
She opened her mouth to pelt him with questions— How did you catch us? Who was that man? Where the hell did you learn to throw fruit like that? —but none of it mattered right then.
“You saved me,” she gasped, her mouth finally discovering a way to form the words that had been bouncing on the edge of her brain. “You saved my life.”
Mac nodded once, then dropped his hands. His expression was stony, and his jaw clenched and unclenched in the glitter of sunlight through the missing windshield.
“That’s my job,” he said. “That’s part of this business arrangement. Keeping you safe.”
Kelli nodded, still too stunned for coherent thought. She looked down at the pile of shattered glass and mangled fruit on her wedding gown and swallowed hard.
“I hope you know a good dry cleaner.”
“So he had no ties whatsoever to Zapata?” Mac loosened his grip on the phone and stared out his office window at the glitter of afternoon sun on the Pacific Ocean.
“That’s correct, sir,” Hank replied. “He’s got a long rap sheet for carjacking and petty theft, but no connection to our guy.”
Mac frowned. He trusted the intelligence, but still. He hated the idea he’d put Kelli at risk from more than one direction. He’d spent enough time in Mexico to know many of the American news stories about street crime and unsafe conditions were largely exaggerated. Still, he should have been more careful. Should have done a better job protecting her.
“We keep two guards on her at all times,” Mac said. “Report back to me if you learn anything else.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry again about losing sight of the car.”
“It’s not your fault. The guy took off like a bat out of hell.”
“Still. If you hadn’t jumped on that moving fruit truck and known where to cut the guy off on the highway, things could have ended much differently. How the hell did you figure he’d head toward Cabo?”
“Lucky guess.”
Luck. Goddamn it, he’d worked way too hard to leave anything to luck at this stage in the game. No more taking chances with this deal.
With Kelli.
“She never leaves your sight,” Mac said. “You, plus two guards.”
“Understood.”
He disconnected the call and glanced at his watch. It was long past lunchtime, though he’d skipped the meal and holed up in his office reviewing military briefings and gathering intelligence on the carjacker. It was true Mexico had plenty of random crime, but the idea of Kelli being a target unnerved him.
He sighed and tucked the phone in his pocket. Probably time to shut down for the day and check on her. He couldn’t remember if he’d told her about their dinner plans for the evening, but he should probably let her know so she had time to get ready. Hell, he needed to change his shirt, since it still reeked of cantaloupe. He tugged at the buttons, shrugging the garment off as he passed the laundry chute.
He took the steps two at a time and strode down the hallway toward the guest room. The door was wide open, and he halted in front of it, not wanting to intrude.
“Kelli?” he called. “You in there?”
“Over here!” came the chirpy reply.
Mac turned toward the primary bedroom, frowning slightly as he moved into his own living space and took in his surroundings. There was the massive, four-poster bed with a sturdy iron headboard. The crimson duvet brushed the corners of the dark teak nightstands on either side. The walls were painted a near-black shade of purple and adorned with abstract paintings and an iron candelabra Maria had found in an antique shop.
There was a faint scent of jasmine in the air, and Mac followed it almost unconsciously as he moved through the bedroom toward the large walk-in closet in the far corner.
“Kelli?” he called again. “Do you need help with?—”
The words died in his throat as he froze in the doorway of the closet. Kelli looked up from her spot in the center of the space and gave him a broad smile.
It was the only thing she wore.
Well, pretty much. The bra and panties left little to the imagination, flimsy and lacy and made of some sort of pale silk that showed every inch of flesh beneath. The wedding dress she’d worn earlier was long gone, and she wore a pair of sparkly high heels that accentuated her calves and that pert little ass. She looked like the best Christmas gift he’d ever gotten, Mac felt an overwhelming urge to gather her in his arms and carry her to the bed.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Mac felt all the blood drain from his head. “Think?”
“About the dress.”
Mac swallowed hard and gripped the doorframe, afraid he might fall over from dizziness. “You’re not wearing a dress.”
“And you’re not wearing a shirt. Our powers of observation are outstanding.” She grinned. “I’m trying to choose a dress for tomorrow night. The meeting with Zapata?” She gestured to the garments lining the closet. “You told me I could pick something in here. I hope it’s okay if I try on a few things.”
Mac nodded, still not completely sure he’d heard her right. Did those even count as panties? They were mostly just string and lace, and unless he was seeing things, she was waxed bare beneath them. Her breasts strained against the thin fabric of the bra, and Mac felt his mouth go dry as he looked at her.
“You’re staring.”
“You’re naked.”
“I’m in my underwear. This is more clothing than most women wear to the beach, and besides, we’re engaged. Remember?”
Mac was having a hard time remembering his name at the moment. He blinked and tried to force himself to concentrate.
“Dresses. Yes, absolutely.” Mac swallowed, frozen in place, his eyes flicking to the rows of designer gowns he’d had delivered in her size. He felt light-headed. Maybe it was the sight of all that women’s clothing lined up in his closet, or maybe it was the sight of all that woman. He gripped the doorframe harder as she took a few steps toward him, a faint smile on her lips.
“What do you think?” she asked again. She held up two garments—dresses, he thought, made of something shimmery and expensive, though he couldn’t have named the colors or styles if someone tortured him.
Mac swallowed. “I think they’re stunning.”
“Mac?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
She tucked one finger under his chin and lifted to raise the direction of his gaze.
“About the dresses. What do you think about the dresses, not my tits.”
Mac tore his eyes from them and cocked his head. “To be fair, the tits are in my closet. It only seems appropriate I should admire them.”
Kelli laughed, but made no move to cover up. “Well we are engaged,” she said. “And we are having dinner tomorrow with your business associate. You should get to help pick the dress. Do you think chartreuse or aubergine?”
“I have no idea what you just said.” He looked at the dresses for the first time, noticing she’d picked out something green and one in a dark purple. “I don’t think that bra matches either dress.”
“Well, they are strapless dresses,” Kelli pointed out, holding them up for his inspection.
Mac nodded, and Kelli thrust them into his hands, forcing them to close around the hangers instead of around those gorgeous breasts cupped in satin and lace. He remembered what they’d felt like in his hands when he’d teased her in the car, and he ached to touch them again.
“I think the only way to try on these dresses is for me to remove my bra,” Kelli said. “Care to help me?”
Mac swallowed hard, thinking this was probably a very bad idea. Why was that again?
It was one thing to tease her when he was in charge of the situation, but Kelli was calling the shots now. The lack of control unsettled him.
It also excited him.
She turned, baring her back and the flimsy clasp of the bra so enticingly close, Mac could almost touch her. Then he was touching her, dropping the dresses in a puddle at his feet as he reached for the bra clasp. He flicked it open and pushed aside the lacy straps, his palms sliding around to cup her as his thumbs slid over her nipples. She was so warm, so sweet, so unbelievably soft?—
“Oh, no you don’t,” Kelli scolded, stepping away and turning to face him. She angled her arm so it covered her breasts, but just barely. “We’re choosing dresses, remember?”
“Right. Dresses.” Mac nodded and Kelli gave him a smile. There was something different about it. Something not even remotely angelic. He wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. She was all devil now, her eyes flashing with mischief as she held those beautiful breasts just out of reach.
“I think you should turn around,” she said. “What?”
“We aren’t married, you know. I don’t think it’s right for you to go staring at my bare breasts.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He took a step toward her.
She took a step back and shook her head. “Turn around.”
Mac blinked, not sure if she was serious or not. She stared right back, her expression equal parts teasing and scolding. He waited a few beats for her to drop her arm, to tell him she was just teasing.
God, it was hot in this closet.
“I’m waiting,” she said. “You wanted a sweet, demure, innocent bride who wouldn’t give you any trouble, right?”
“What?”
“A modest bride is a happy bride,” Kelli chirped. “I read that in a wedding planning guide from 1958.”
“Did Anna give it to you?”
“Yes.”
“Is it too late to fire her?”
She grinned. “Turn around, Mac.”
Sensing she wasn’t going to be showing him her breasts anytime soon, he grumbled something unintelligible and turned around. He was facing the closet door now, staring out into the bedroom with its dark wood furniture and modern art and that big, sprawling, massive bed where he’d sincerely love to toss Kelli and fuck her senseless.
“What do you think?” she purred, her lips so close to his ear that he jumped. How the hell had she crept up on him?
He started to turn, but her hands cupped his shoulders, holding him in place. That’s when he noticed what was pressed warmly low against his bare back. Those naked, soft breasts pushed against him, teasing and warm against his spine. She moved with slow deliberateness, grazing the hollow of his back with her nipples. He could feel them firm on his flesh, and he groaned aloud. He wasn’t sure if it was frustration that he couldn’t touch her, or pleasure that she was touching him. Did it matter?
She brushed her breasts from one side of his back to the other, still teasing. Heat and friction made her nipples skitter slightly, flesh on flesh, softness against hardness. He ached to touch her. To see her.
But at least he could feel her. Her breasts moved against him, pressing upward, moving in slow circles. Her nipples felt hard and tight against the columns of muscle running up each side of his spine.
“I like your freckles,” she breathed, planting a soft kiss on one shoulder blade. “I wouldn’t have pictured you as a man with freckles. You hide things well.”
She laughed then, and brushed one fingertip over the front of his trousers. He groaned, and she laughed again. “Well, maybe not all things.”
She went back to teasing him, hands on his shoulders, breasts moving soft and lush against his back. He felt her eyelashes tickle his flesh as she planted another kiss on his left shoulder blade, then the right.
It dawned on Mac this was as much a tease for her as it was for him. Her hands slid away from his shoulders, and he tried to turn, to seize control of the situation. She stopped him, palms pressing hard against his shoulder blades, breasts pushed firmly into the small of his back.
“Not so fast,” she whispered. “I’m just testing this out.”
“Testing what out?”
“How it would feel to be braless. See, I didn’t pack a strapless bra, so I need to make sure this is an acceptable way to spend the evening in mixed company.”
Mac closed his eyes as she stroked herself over his spine and down. He pictured her bending her knees as she dipped low, her breasts moving just above his belt.
“I don’t know about mixed company, but it works great here,” he murmured.
She slid her hands down, moving to cup his ass. Her palms moved against him, fingers massaging—a surgeon’s skilled fingers—and Mac gave another strangled moan as her nipples trailed over the heated patch of skin above his pants.
Pants that felt entirely too tight at the moment.
He could feel his erection straining against the fabric. The caveman inside him commanded him to just turn around and take her. It would be so easy, and he knew she’d come willingly.
The rest of him ached to see what she planned to do.
He had his answer in an instant as her hands slid away from his ass and moved to the front of his pants. His back was still to her, so he couldn’t see what she was doing, but he could feel her. Her fingers found the buckle of his belt and unfastened it. Then she moved to his fly, fingertips grazing his belly as she flicked the button open and moved to the zipper. She slid it down with aching slowness, her movements deliberate, certain.
Her hands moved to his hips, pushing the fabric down over them. The pants fell easily, linen pooling at his bare feet. She moved to the waistband of his boxer briefs, her fingers teasing as they slid beneath the elastic.
Christ, he should just turn around and have her. Bend her over the bench where he sat to put on his shoes. Take charge of the situation. Part of him screamed to seize control, to call the shots the way he always did.
But there was something thrilling about giving it up, if only for a moment. Letting a woman have her fun with him.
“Mmm,” she whispered against his back as she pushed his boxer briefs down over his hips. They fell onto the pants, a pile of warm fabric at his feet. He started to kick them away, but Kelli pressed one high-heeled shoe onto the pile, trapping him in place with his own clothes.
“Stay still,” she whispered, nipping lightly at the top of his butt.
He groaned and tried to turn again, to see her at least.
She held him firmly by the waist.
“Nice try,” she whispered, rising up again and skimming her breasts over his back. Her breath was warm on the side of his ribcage. “No touching before the wedding.”
“This isn’t touching?” he ground out.
“Not yet,” she murmured. “But this is.”
Her fingertips grazed the tip of his cock. Then she wrapped one hand around him, her palm hot and soft against him.
“Fuck,” Mac choked out, gripping the doorframe for balance.
“Definitely not,” she whispered, gripping him tighter as she began to stroke him. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
She caressed him slowly, her hands skilled and applying just the right amount of pressure. She moved up, down, up again, fingertips soft and firm all at once.
“Holy God,” he gasped as she stroked her hand in a slow, rhythmic, tease. Her breasts pressed soft against his back as her fingers moved deftly over his shaft. “Whatever kind of girl you are, I hope you never change.”
She laughed and stroked more firmly, one hand gliding over him while the other moved lower to knead his balls. She teased slowly at first, her rhythm building gradually as Mac’s breath came faster.
Her grip was tighter now, but still fluid. He’d never been handled this way before, forced to stand completely still while someone else touched and teased and all he could do was grip the doorframe and hope to God he got to repay the favor.
He felt himself throbbing in her hand and gritted his teeth, certain he was on the brink of falling down or passing out or losing it completely.
“Kelli,” he growled.
“Hmm?” she breathed against his back.
“You’d better stop now.”
“Or what?”
“Or one of two things will happen.” He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure as his fingers dug hard into the doorframe. “Either we’ll have another article of clothing to dry clean, or I’m going to turn around and?—”
“Sir?”
They both froze. Kelli’s hand held him tight, unmoving.
Her breath was hot and fast against his back. “Sir? Are you in there?”
Brian.
Fuck, Mac thought. I left the goddamn door wide open.
Mac swallowed. “Yes?”
“I have the car ready, sir. The dinner reservation you asked for is at seven.”
Mac closed his eyes. Dammit . He’d completely forgotten.
“Dinner?” Kelli whispered, fingers still twined around his shaft.
“It was a surprise,” he whispered back. “Since I didn’t get to take you out your first night.”
“How romantic.”
“Besides, it’s good for Zapata’s people to see us out in public.”
“Of course.”
Mac took a deep breath. “Coming!”
Behind him, Kelli laughed. “Not anymore.” She laughed again, her breasts moving pleasantly. Mac lost a few more brain cells.
She squeezed him once more, softly, before letting go. Then she stepped back. Mac felt her absence in the chill of his bare skin.
“On second thought,” he whispered, “We could just skip dinner and?—”
“No way, José,” she said, putting a palm against his back to keep him from turning around. He heard a rustle of clothing, and felt disappointed she was getting dressed.
“It’s only a major arms deal,” he said. “Just a few million bucks and some dead civilians, but really?—”
“The moment’s gone, Mac,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Stall Brian for ten minutes while I put on some lipstick and a dress.”
“Without underwear?” he asked hopefully.
She swatted him on the shoulder, then gave him a gentle push toward the door. “You’ll just have to wonder, won’t you?”
“About a lot of things,” he muttered raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. He grabbed a shirt from its hanger and shrugged it over his shoulders as he stomped toward the door.
He got halfway down the hall before remembering to go back for his pants.
By the time he got to the car, he’d almost cooled off. Almost.
He punched his sister’s speed-dial number, grateful to have a few moments of quiet with no bodyguards or assistants or disturbingly sexy fake fiancées around to cloud his thoughts.
Sheri answered on the second ring. “Mac! I’m so glad to hear from you. How are things going?”
Mac adjusted his sunglasses and stared through the windshield at a phallic-looking cactus. “I asked for a Stepford wife and you sent me a goddamn hellcat.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and Mac could picture Sheri biting down on her fist to keep from laughing. He felt his blood starting to boil, or maybe that was his libido still on a low simmer from Kelli’s teasing. “It’s good to hear from you, too,” Sheri said primly.
“You knew damn well Kelli wasn’t sweet and demure and compliant and whatever else you tried to sell me. She’s your best friend, for crying out loud.”
“And she’s your sister’s best friend,” she retorted, her voice annoyingly smug and chipper. “You should have paid more attention.”
Mac gritted his teeth and raked his hand through his hair. “This is not what I asked for.”
“No? Well, I asked for a nanny and you sent a Marine.”
“A Marine you’re now engaged to marry, may I remind you? You’re welcome.”
“So are you, jerk.” She laughed. “You gave me the one thing I was damn sure I didn’t want but never knew I needed. I saw my chance to do the same for my control-freak big brother. You can thank me later.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “I have to run. Sam’s waiting in the car with the boys. I love you, you overbearing bastard.”
Before he could say anything else, she’d hung up on him. Mac sat there staring at the phone a moment, not sure whether to be pissed off at his sister, at Kelli, or himself.
He tore his gaze off the phallic cactus and saw Kelli floating toward the car in a shimmery yellow dress that hugged her curves. His heart lodged in his throat, and he gripped the phone in his fist, forgetting all about being pissed off.
Anger wasn’t what he was feeling. That wasn’t it at all.
And that scared the holy living shit out of him.