Acceptable Risks (14 page)

“Is it hidden in the kind of place Isaac is also trained to hide things, and will therefore find it?” Damn if he didn’t smile again. Pleasure squirmed inside her, and she stopped trying to fight it.

“No. Don’t worry.” He carried the box through the clean, cozy kitchen and up the stairs into a carpeted hallway. Lark followed him into the furthest bedroom. Instead of pulling out a painting or opening the closet, he slid out a dresser drawer and reached in to twist something. A click made her look up. The light fixture had come partway out of the ceiling. Jason set the box on the quilted double bed and climbed up next to it. When he pulled on the light, an uneven patch of ceiling—uneven because the edges matched the swirl pattern of the textured paint—came down. Jason heaved the box up into the space, shoved the ceiling closed and jumped down to the floor.

Lark was impressed, but hid it. “Clever, but not very secure,” she accused. “Anyone can just twist that thing in there.” She waggled a finger at the dresser, an ugly pressboard box. “What if they find the twister when they search the drawer?”

“Try it.” Jason folded his arms and watched her, looking smug.

Obviously, she wasn’t going to be able to open it. But she shrugged and tried anyway. Sure enough, though her fingers found the butterfly nut, no matter what she did, she couldn’t get it to turn.

“Okay, fine. Good.” She shoved the drawer closed and dusted off her hands. “Now what?”

“You hungry?”

“Famished.”

“The housekeeper left some food, probably on Matt’s instructions. Nothing fresh, but it’s better than fast food junk.”

Lark’s stomach rumbled. It had been an eternity since she’d eaten. “Anything sounds good.”

A few minutes later they danced around each other making peanut butter sandwiches with pickles and chips. They sat at the kitchen table to eat, neither talking much. There wasn’t much to say at this point. Lark floundered, with no clue what to do next, and she didn’t want to badger Jason, who was probably working it out.

When they were done eating, Jason pulled the laptop over to Lark and handed her the flash drive.

“Why don’t you start cataloging what’s in here. Maybe with a list we can decide where to start.” He grimaced. “I’m starting to cramp from all the driving. I’m going to do some time on the treadmill.”

Lark stood, worried. “You shouldn’t be cramping from that little bit.”

“Another side effect. I just have to keep the muscles loose and limber, and I haven’t been able to for a couple of days. It’s no big deal.”

“I could give you a massage,” she offered, her pulse skipping as she imagined rubbing her hands over his body.

“No!”

His vehemence popped her fantasy and she rocked back, her feelings bruised.

“No, thank you,” he amended more quietly. “I’m fine. I’ll be back down in about an hour.”

“Is it okay if I make some phone calls?” She pulled her cell out of her pocket, using the motion to duck her head and hide her blush. “I don’t want people to freak that I’m totally uncommunicative.”

“What kind of people?”

Her boss and her ex-boyfriend had left messages for her, but she felt awkward mentioning Carl, so she just said, “My boss.”

“Sure. Use the house phone, though, it’s secure.” And he hurried up the stairs two at a time.

Lark lifted the phone off the wall, shaking her head at the cord, and carried the whole thing to the table. Maybe it had to be a landline to be totally secure, but it still hindered her need to pace. She sat and grabbed the pad and pen Jason had left for her. If she couldn’t pace, doodling would have to do.

She was curious why Carl had tried to contact her. She’d cut him off pretty good the other night. But she dreaded calling Ralph, and decided it would be better to get that over with first.

“Botanical Medicality,” said the melodic voice of the weekend receptionist who Lark privately thought was a robot. Or at least a cyborg.

“Cindee, it’s Lark Madrassa. Ralph in?” It was nearly five on a Saturday, but she figured after the break-in yesterday he’d still be there.

“One moment please, Ms. Madrassa. I shall consult his availability.”

Lark rolled her eyes and tapped her fingers as she waited.

“Lark!” Ralph boomed a moment later. “Where the hell are you?”

“Why, Ralph? It’s a Saturday.”

“The police keep calling me about getting your statement about yesterday. That guy’s gonna be fine, you know. The one you tried to blind. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

Chapter Twelve

Lark’s jaw dropped a little. “Ralph, I—did you just say the F word?”

“Hell, yeah, I said the F word. I was supposed to be sailing today. Instead, I’m in here trying to re-secure our most important greenhouse, make sure there isn’t anything proprietary missing, deal with the insurance company for this asshole’s medical bills, and run down my missing botanist, the one who caused all this, who isn’t here to do her job!”

Her heart sank. “What do you mean, the insurance company? He broke into the greenhouse.”

“Hell he did. If you’d be here to give your statement, maybe this could be straightened out. But he signed in at the desk as your afternoon meeting, and the idiot receptionist sent him back to the greenhouse. He says the door was open. He went in and looked for you, called your name, and the next thing he knew, you were dumping stuff on him and spraying him with a hose.”

Shit. She’d trusted Jason when he hurried her out of there, but she hadn’t meant for this to happen. “I’m sorry, I had a family emergency. I’ll contact the police to give my statement. But I’m in DC. It’s my father.” She hoped Ralph wouldn’t pry, because she hated to make something up, and the fewer people who knew her father was missing, the better. At least right now. But he was still harping on the unsecure greenhouse and the “client” who might sue them for medical damages. Lark let him rant. She should be angry about Donald’s story, but she couldn’t blame him for trying to get out of his own mess.

“Okay, Ralph, I’ll take care of it. And I’ll be in Monday to inventory the greenhouse, okay?” She hoped she would. But she doubted they’d be able to locate her father and rescue him in one day. Even if they did, she wouldn’t want to leave his side. Let BotMed fire her. She’d deal with that later.

Ralph fed her the name and number of the cop in charge of the case, but she wouldn’t call until she talked to Jason. She probably couldn’t give her statement over the phone, anyway, which meant they’d have to wait until she got back up north.

Next up, Carl. He answered on the first ring.

“Lark, sweetheart, I just heard. Are you all right?”

“Heard what?”

“About the break-in at work.”

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“How about I come up and make you some
osso buco
?”

“No, thank you. I appreciate the offer. Talk to you later!” She reached for the switch hook, but manners had her hand hovering while Carl kept talking.

“It’s no trouble. I have all the stuff here. And I know how upset you must be after you attacked that guy. I mean, because he broke in.”

Lark pulled her hand back, frowning. How did he know about it, anyway? “I didn’t attack anyone.”

“I know. Self-defense, right? Anyway, I have some wine—”

“I’m fine, Carl, thank you,” she repeated a little more forcefully. “And I’m not home.”

“Oh?” His tone of voice changed dramatically. “Where are you?” Now instead of slightly buffoonish he sounded shrewd.

“Out of town. But thanks for your caring.” She hung up before he could respond, then sat for a minute, thinking. She and Carl had broken up weeks ago. They hadn’t spoken in all that time except the one night in the elevator when he came on to her. So why all the sudden concern, and the shrewdness when he asked where she was? How had he heard about the BotMed thing? Ralph hadn’t given any indication it was on the news, and if it had been, he’d have been even more furious. But any possible reasons she came up with for Carl’s concern seemed farfetched and paranoid.

Jason hadn’t come back downstairs, so she booted up the computer to make lists of Isaac’s files. After she’d gone through a dozen, she was able to start grouping them. Personal stuff that probably wouldn’t be helpful. Spreadsheets of data, some that looked client oriented, some clearly connected to Hummingbird. She knew Jason would be able to figure out what was what. She recognized a few employees, a few clients, a few government contacts, and flagged those as higher priority. But nothing seemed consistent. Other files contained photos and videos, none of anything she could identify at a glance. Some documents appeared to be surveillance reports and quotes for service.

By the time she finished, two hours had gone by since Jason went upstairs. Sticky and worn out, Lark shut down the computer, gathered it up with her notes and the flash drive, and headed upstairs to take a shower. She could hear Jason running on the treadmill behind a closed door. She paused, a little worried. He’d only planned to be up here for an hour. His breathing sounded okay, not ragged, and his pace wasn’t too fast, so she continued down the hall to the room where she’d left her bag. Maybe he had another phone and had made some calls, himself.

But after she showered and put on the tank and knit shorts she slept in, the pounding steps on the running machine were still going.

“Jason?” She knocked on the door but didn’t hear him respond. Maybe he was listening to headphones. She cracked the door and gasped. “Jason!”

He ran steadily, his pace and form perfect, but his face tight with pain. His muscles all stood out in sharp relief, even under the tight running clothes he wore.

Lark hurried over to the machine and pressed the speed button to slow him down, her heart pounding. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Cramps,” he gritted out. “If I stop running, they tighten.” He reached for the speed button again, but Lark yanked the safety cord to deactivate the machine. Jason groaned and started to collapse, reaching for his right calf. Lark caught his arm and slowed his descent.

“You should have called me.” She forced him to lie back on the floor next to the machine and grabbed his ankle to push his leg up. “Flex your foot.” She started digging her fingers into his calf, feeling the knots and working them out. “Holy crap, Jason.” She couldn’t imagine the pain he was in, and dug harder.

“I know.” He groaned again. “Don’t, Lark, I’ll work it out.”

“Shut up.” She continued massaging, the sheen of sweat on his skin lubricant for her fingers. Some of the tension ebbed, but he was now clutching the left, which he had bent at the knee. “Straighten that.” She laid his right leg out and straddled it to reach the left calf. “Where else?”

“Nowhere.”

“Liar.” Why didn’t he want her to know? “Tell me. The quads?”

He nodded shortly, his eyes closed, his jaw still very tight. As his calf loosened up, she laid his leg down and put a hand on each quadriceps to work them both at once.

Jason threw his arm over his eyes and worked hard to contain the yells building in his chest. There was nothing he could do about the other effects of Lark’s hands on his body, though. Even with the extreme pain, the pressure of her fingers sent waves of pleasure through him, more intense as the cramps eased. The balance shifted, pain morphing straight into desire, and he hardened with each stroke of her palms up his thighs, throbbed as her fingers dug in, loosening the muscles.

“How often does this happen?” he heard Lark ask through the buzzing in his ears.

“It hasn’t. I’ve been running every day.” It hadn’t occurred to him that the random cramps on occasional mornings had been harbingers of something worse. He always did the treadmill and other rehab exercise in the morning, and any mild cramping he had when he first woke up disappeared. Lark dug her thumb particularly deep into the groove of muscle close to his inner thigh and he gasped.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt—” She stopped, and he guessed she’d spotted his raging erection.
Touch it
. He bit his tongue to keep from begging and peeked under his arm to see her focusing her gaze on his toes. “Did I hurt you?” she finished.

“No.” His voice came out rough. “The opposite.”

She swung her head quickly around to lock onto his face. “What do you mean?”

Jason covered his eyes again. He didn’t want to tell her. It would sound like the lamest excuse to try to get a woman into bed. “Nothing.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

“Lark, drop it.” He bent one knee, then the other, and the cramps didn’t come back. He curled his torso to sit up. “Thank you. I’m fine now.” But she laid her hand oh-so-gently on his forearm, and the shocks shooting up and down his arm made him want to scream. “Don’t…touch me. Please.”

The hurt that flickered across her face was impossible to miss. He growled out a curse and dragged himself to his feet. Lark glided up beside him, and he finally noticed what she was wearing. Gray tank top, no bra. Short knit shorts that hugged her ass so well he knew she must run regularly, too. And absolutely nothing else. She was bare skin from her fingertips to her shoulders, from her toes to the tops of her thighs. He slammed his eyes shut.

“I need a shower. I appreciate your help. You can go now.”

“Okay.” The word was a whisper, full of confusion and distress. Crap. He was going to have to tell her.

“I’m sorry.” He opened his eyes, about to explain the embarrassing reality, but she was closer to him than he’d expected. If he leaned forward he’d knock her off balance. Her head was tilted up, her chin determined, her eyes wide enough he suspected she was trying not to cry. He couldn’t help himself. He put his right palm flat on the back of her shoulder, just to brace her, keep her from falling backward. But even though he swore he didn’t pull, she tilted forward, her body brushing his in half a dozen places.

And it hurt. It would have hurt anyway, but with the sweat and the cramping he was even more susceptible. Jolts of electricity flared along his skin. To escape it he instinctively pulled her closer, tighter to him, to eliminate the slight friction between them.

Big mistake. Huge. Lark gasped and pressed her hands to his chest, the pressure just right. The pain dissipated there and along his legs, dragging pleasure behind it so he wanted to crawl inside her. And she knew it. The shock in her eyes darkened to awareness. She licked her lips, and her gaze flicked down to his mouth. He didn’t know if it was on purpose, but her back arched to lift her hips against his, and his cock tightened even more. He groaned at the friction, desperately trying not to rub against her, but she drew in an excited breath, and he had no choice. Or no will, anyway. He gave in to the demands of his body and dropped his mouth to hers.

Her lips were hot, and soft, and tasted of her. They met his with hunger and parted with welcome, and she sucked the tongue he plunged into her mouth. No easy, tentative first kiss, this. He
wanted
. Craved. His right hand drove up under her hair, twisting it around his fist so it didn’t brush his forearm. His left fell to the small of her back and pulled her even tighter against him.

Lark didn’t wrap her arms around his neck, but instead clutched his shirt in both fists, pulling even though they couldn’t get any closer together. Jason’s body curved around her and he lifted her higher, pressed his cock harder against her. She cried out and threw her head back, flinging one leg up over his hip and surging against him.

That was all it took. The orgasm rushed over him before he could do anything about it, a full-body blowout, like nothing he’d ever felt before. Lark’s fingers dug into his shoulders and the throbs there echoed all over his body, most intensely where Lark cradled him between her legs.

He knew in a few seconds he would be more embarrassed than he’d ever been in his life, even the first time he had sex when he hadn’t even gotten inside the girl before he came. But right now, with aftershocks still shuddering through him, the embarrassment couldn’t take hold.

Lark pulled her head up, her face flushed, eyes shining. She shivered, the movement working up her body and ending in a smirk.

On cue, heat flowed through him. He opened his mouth to apologize, wondering what he could possibly say to make him appear less of a complete asshole. But before he could, Lark leaned up and kissed his mouth, softly.

“Thank you,” she said.

And Jason was doomed.