Chapter 10
“What is it?” She asked him after he slammed his door closed.
Shana could tell Dane saw something. He looked as if the cool stupid macho Marlboro Man beachcomber had disappeared and was replaced by RoboCop.
She felt the frigid steeliness emanating from him and she admitted in a tiny corner of her mind that it both scared her to death and turned her on in equal measures.
Her heart pounded loud and fast no matter how much she told herself to calm down.
“It’s Ned. He’s trouble. And he’ll be waiting for us.” Dane started the car and pulled out, watching the rearview mirror.
“I got a bad vibe from him too,” she said.
“Jean Luc is in over his head,” Dane said, “and whatever his usual game is, we can throw it out the window because it’s clear Ned is in charge and he’s a wild card. A lethal wild card.”
“I’ll call Captain Lynch and see if he can find out anything on the man,” Shana said and turned to Chauncey. “Give me your tiepin and I’ll send the pictures.”
“The pictures were automatically sent to HQ when I took them. You can call Cap to see if they have anything.”
“Oh…” She felt like she’d just got left back in first grade because she didn’t know how to spell go. She punched in the number for Captain Nice and he answered on the first ring.
“Hello, Shana—what can I do for you?”
“What do you have for us on the picture Chauncey just sent from his tiepin gadget?”
“Nothing yet. I’m running it now on the facial recognition program against all databases—including Interpol. I’ll send you a text when I have something.” He paused a beat. “That all you need?” He sounded too hopeful.
“I don’t know—that all you got, big boy?”
Cap chuckled at her. “Look for my text.”
“Will do. But if I don’t get something soon, I’ll have to come looking for you.” The good captain grunted and signed off.
“Was that absolutely necessary?” Dane asked her without taking his eyes from the nighttime traffic on the busy village streets.
“Warming up my flirting muscles.” She didn’t bother looking at him either.
Dane sighed. If she thought he might tell her that her flirting muscles were in fine shape, then she would have been disappointed.
The Flying Horses Club was on the right in the next block.
The live music ricocheted through the night air to reach them.
They pulled up in front and the valet came around to open their doors.
Taking in a deep breath of the heady salt air mixed with magic glamour and expensive perfumes, Shana walked with Dane and Chauncey followed behind.
Dane held a proprietary arm around her as if they were together.
Something about it all swallowed her up and carried her away in the moment.
She turned to his profile before they walked inside and the overwhelming need to kiss him, the want and draw of his strong jaw and sensual lips—and maybe the effect of the champagne too—all made her giddy and edgy with excitement.
He glanced down at her from his two-inch height advantage—a rarity that caused a flutter to waft up from her stomach—and his eyes blazed.
“Don’t look at me that way, girlie. Not unless you want to be kissed.”
“I could say the same thing to you.”
“If you did, I would say go for it.” He paused a beat and smiled.
She had enough self-preservation instincts still operational under the haze of her champagne and glamour-fueled high to not take him up on his dare.
“And here I thought you were a bold girl for a minute.”
“And stop calling me girl.” She withdrew herself from his hold and strode through the door ahead of him, leaving him to pay their way. She headed straight for the dance floor, propelled by the music and the crowd.
Jean Luc was right. This was a great place.
The crowd was a mix of everyone from poor college kids, twenty-something trust fund brats, to middle-aged couples of varied means.
More singles than couples. She turned over her shoulder to see Dane followed by Jean Luc and Chauncey heading toward her.
She scoured Dane’s face for a clue to his mood but found nothing useful.
His undercover mask was back in place and he took her hand the moment he reached her and pulled her into a dance at the center of the floor.
Luck must be commonplace for him, she decided, when the band melted into a slow song meant for romance.
He held her close and she forged her defenses, not worried a whit if anyone noticed because they couldn’t possibly see her face with his so close by.
The heat of the place closed in on her. His strong lean arms tightened around her to flatten her body against his.
He was hard and she felt dizzy. She shouldn’t have had that last champagne.
He pressed her head toward his with one hand, and she felt the sandpaper texture of his face, smelled the overwhelming manly scent, powerful and waving over her like the ocean itself.
“You’ll need to make yourself more accessible or Jean Luc may pick another mark and stop wasting his time with you.”
She pulled back. He forced her to keep dancing when she would have stopped. The urge to slap his face flashed through her, but instead she stiffened her spine mentally.
“You don’t think he finds me suitably wealthy and flighty?”
“No, I think he finds you smart and distant and your wealth maybe not obvious enough. You are inaccessible.”
Her nostrils flared and she moved her mouth close to his ear. His scent nearly choked off the bite of her words, but she managed to say, “I think it’s you. You’re the problem. You keep me from pursuing him when you behave like a proprietary jungle cat.”
She felt the warmth emanate from him. Smelled that male sweat.
Saw the thud of the pulse in his neck. The coil of heat inside her spiraled and clenched to a spot between her thighs and she felt the moisture pool there.
She struggled to keep her back straight and her knees from buckling as he pulled her close enough to grind their hips.
She sucked in a stunned breath. He turned his head, dragging the roughness of his stubbled jaw against her cheek until his mouth fronted hers and she breathed his breath.
Chest heaving almost to the point of panting, she felt her own breath deflect off him, mingle with his and come back to her.
She swallowed his breath, his scent. She felt moisture from his lips touching and not touching, wisping together and apart from her lips.
He said nothing. She had no voice, no words.
His hand slid up her back, gliding over the silk of her dress and searing across the skin of her shoulders and up under her hair to cup the back of her neck.
Her breath stopped; then she gasped as she saw the blaze in his eyes before he pulled her mouth against his in a crushing ravenous kiss.
His mouth felt greedy and his lips soft and hot and moist and seductive and punishing.
He pulled her bottom lip into his mouth and between his teeth and held on, flicking it with his tongue and sucking on it until he nipped it with a pinch and let go.
She pulled her mouth from his, and the simmering heat of her body from the soles of her feet to her thudding heart to her mouth and face screamed at her, telling her she was out of control.
The shaking of her hands against his chest caught his attention an instant before she realized she should hide it.
He covered her hand with his larger cooler one, steadying her.
Lifting her chin with the other hand, he forced her to look into his eyes.
She didn’t find the mocking look she dreaded.
She found a mirror of the tumult inside her.
The music stopped and she pushed her palms against his rock-hard chest to get space, to breathe.
A million words fled through her mind in and out of her grasp and so she had no idea what to say.
Feelings dominated reason in her brain. Her hands stayed there on his chest and she felt the thudding of his heart slow as they stared at each other.
He held her in place so she couldn’t flee.
Like he read her mind or at least one of the multitudinous thoughts flying through it.
Or maybe he felt the nerves skittering through her so that she was afraid she’d start twitching if she didn’t run the other way.
“It’s all right, Shana. My kiss won’t kill you. I’m not made of poison. Not technically. Maybe euphemistically.”
“I… I didn’t think—”
“Neither of us did. I won’t apologize. We’re playing a role.
We both need to remember that. A role. Professional.
Keep it cool.” He stopped talking and let his eyes relax on her and go dreamy rather than intense, almost afraid and vulnerable the way they’d been when he spoke—no rasped—those words.
Scolding words. But he’d been scolding himself too.
They’d been in it together, lost in the moment together and that thought gave her comfort.
He pulled her back in and consoled her with a caress along her back as he whispered in her ear.
“Jean Luc on your six. He’ll want to break us up and dance. You’ll say yes. Even when I put up a fight. You’ll get angry. It’ll work out.” He took a deep breath, tickling the hairs on her neck and making her shiver.
“You okay? You ready for this?”
She nodded. Then she felt Jean Luc approach before she heard the man’s polished accent.
She smelled his distinct yet subtle cologne even in the crush of bodies and their smells.
The spell was broken. Her moment with Dane disappeared.
He became rigid under her hands and in his arms. Then he pulled away and it was as if the door to the Arctic had been opened and she’d been abandoned to the cold.
“May I have the next dance?” Jean Luc came around to speak directly to her in spite of Dane’s menacing stare.
She gave him a smile. She remembered Dane’s words and raised her chin.
“I’d love to heat up the floor with you—it’s about time we got to know each other better since we’ll be sharing the island all summer.” She put out her hand and he took it.
Dane grumbled. “Remember who you came here with, Shana.” He raised a hand and caressed her chin before Jean Luc blocked him and took her away.
“Nonsense. Shana can get a ride from me or any one of a dozen admirers, Dane. In spite of your attempt, you have no hold on the lady.” He smiled over his shoulder at Dane.
When Dane let go of her chin he gave her one more look. A look that didn’t hide anything, a vulnerable caring look full of animal lust and want and worry. Shana wasn’t sure if the worry was for her or for him. She felt the same worry, the same confusion.
* * *
Dane turned away and walked straight to the bar.
He forced himself to ask for ice water. After all, that was what he needed most, wasn’t it?
He was in trouble. They were in trouble.
The mission was in trouble. Most of all, Susan Whittier was in deep trouble—if she was still alive.
They needed to force the hand of Jean Luc and they didn’t have the luxury of time.
He checked his watch and nodded to Chauncey, who joined him at the bar.
“Any word from Captain Lynch—or from the governor? We need backup intel on this. We need to know something about Ned and we need a way to get into Jean Luc’s house.”
“I didn’t get much from Cap’s text except that Ned is staying with Jean Luc and the brother and his girl.
The other two don’t go out much. Ned has something on Jean Luc is my bet and he’s holding them up for some action.
The other piece of information is about the text from Susan Whittier’s phone. ” Chauncey paused.
“Lay it on me.”
“Our suspicions were correct. It came from Jean Luc’s house. Either they’re holding her or she’s dead and they kept her phone—along with who knows what else of her belongings.”
“Shit.”
“Doesn’t look good,” Chauncey agreed.
“No, I mean Ned just walked in.” Dane looked away from Ned and smiled at Chauncey as if they were having a joke and some drinks. He wished he could afford to indulge in another Patron. “Don’t turn.”
“That bad?” Chauncey asked.
“He brought two friends with him.” Dane spared another glance without turning his head and clenched his jaw. “Not the brother and his girl. A couple of gentlemen who look decidedly tougher. And they’re armed.”