Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic (6 page)

He stilled, then pulled back a fraction, studying her.

She wanted to sigh in relief. She wanted to sob in aching frustration.

In that instant he rolled off of her to stand by the bed. Stunned by her sudden release, it took her a moment to switch gears. Her hand went immediately to her hip.

“Looking for this?”

He was by the door now. She stared without meaning to, certainly without wanting to, unable to contain the pulse of admiration that shot through her. Lounging in the doorway, naked and apparently unconcerned about that fact, he was an incredible male animal. An
armed male animal. Her gun dangled carelessly from his thumb and forefinger.

She automatically reached for her ankle.

“Got that one too.” He lifted his other hand, which held her knife.

She’d never felt a thing. Actually, she’d been feeling many things, too many things, unfortunately, and none of them were job related. Dammit, where was her head? He could have killed her. Several times.

Her only remaining weapon was sarcasm. “Let me guess, Mel Gibson’s character was a pickpocket too?”

“I prefer sleight-of-hand artist. Don Johnson.”

“The guy from
Miami Vice
?”

He sighed. “
Nash Bridges
. When was the last time you watched TV, anyway?”

“I stopped watching TV when
Hawaii Five-O
was canceled.”

“Ah, a classics snob. You don’t know what you’ve missed.”

“You can’t top perfection,” she said. “
Mission Impossible, The Mod Squad, The Avengers.
”

“Yeah, but you also had stuff like
Dragnet.
”

She frowned. “Don’t knock
Dragnet.
”

“
Get Smart
,” he challenged.

“Excellent satirical commentary,” she responded with a sniff.

“Oh, please. Next you’ll be telling me that
Charlie’s Angels
was a platform for the women’s movement.”

“And you’ll be telling me you watch
Baywatch
for the lifesaving techniques. You can’t name three shows in the last ten years that could touch
Columbo.
”

“
Hill Street Blues. Barney Miller. Cagney and Lacey.
”

She paused, found herself actually suppressing a smile into a frown. “Okay, I’ll give you those.”

“Not to mention
NYPD Blue
or
Homicide.
”

From the corner of her eye she spied the syringe. It was on the floor near the corner that angled to her right, hidden from his view by the bed. If she could keep him talking … “Wouldn’t know. Don’t watch them. Bring back
The Rockford Files
or
Baretta
, then maybe I’ll tune in.”

He shook his head, then shifted his weight, settling in for the debate. It was as big an opening as she was likely to get. Without tipping her hand by so much as a blink, she tucked and rolled backward off the bed, landing in a crouch.

Her best hope was to engage him in hand-to-hand combat. Going for the needle was just an excuse to make him move away from the door. It worked.

He was quick, launching himself in a flying tackle across the bed as she lunged for the syringe. It wouldn’t stop a bullet, but she really didn’t think he would shoot her. Not yet, anyway.

He caught her ankle and pulled her away just as her hand slapped down close to the syringe.

“Missed it by that much,” he said in a perfect imitation of Don Adams’s Agent 86.

She choked on a surprised laugh, giving up what edge she might have had. A second later she was pinned beneath him once again.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you really like this.”

She was breathless, as much from frustration as exhaustion. She worked up a casual smile. “Tell you what, why don’t we put all the toys away. You grab some
sweats, and we’ll go out to the table, have some dinner and talk. All this wrestling has made me hungry.”

“You’re offending my masculinity. I thought you were enjoying my natural self.”

“Arnold Schwarzenegger couldn’t offend your masculinity,” she said, struggling against his superior weight even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. “Come on, you win. Two pins out of three. Now be a good sport and let me up.”

He grinned down at her. “Wanna go for best three out of five.”

She glared at him. “No. I’m crying uncle here, okay? You win. You’re king of the sandbox. You get to keep all the toys.” She bucked at him again. “Now get off of me.”

“Squirming like that isn’t helping your case any,” he said, his voice husky. “I know an even better way to work up an appetite.” He leaned closer. “It’s sort of like wrestling, but you’ll have to take your clothes off too.”

She struggled not to swallow visibly as erotic images of the two of them entwined, naked, writhing on the floor assaulted her mind. How did he do that to her? She’d been propositioned more times than she could count and never, not once, had it affected her this way. So instantly. So … graphically.

“Even sex for sex’s sake requires trust.” She forced a slow smile, certain he could feel the trembling of her inner thighs. “You sure you can trust me even that much?”

He leaned closer. “Let’s just say I’m willing to accept the challenge.”

She held his gaze. “Throw the gun and the knife up on the bed.”

His eyebrows lifted. She’d surprised him again. Hell, she’d surprised herself.
Just what are you going to do if this doesn’t work?

He pinned her hands with one of his, then picked up the gun he’d dropped when he tackled her and tossed both it and the knife on the bed. “Okay.” He looked up. “Wait a minute.” He leaned over her, his bare chest sliding across her face as he reached above her head. The syringe hit the bed a second later. He settled back down on top of her, straddling her hips, pinning her legs with his ankles. He slid her hands down until each wrist was beside her head. “No more needles. What next?”

She didn’t move. When he’d loomed over her, she’d made the mistake of looking down. He was definitely, um, up for the job. She felt him … resting on her stomach. She kept her gaze locked on his.

At least she’d accomplished one thing. They were both unarmed. She’d leveled the playing field.

He smiled. Her pulse doubled. Muscles that she had no control over clutched painfully between her thighs.

Well, maybe it was still slanted a little, she reluctantly admitted. “I guess the first challenge will be getting my clothes off,” she said.

“Looks like I tossed away the knife too soon.”

A thrill shot through her at the thought of him slicing clothes from her body. He made her feel … wicked.

No
, her little voice corrected.
He makes you feel alive.

Maybe it was
she
who needed a challenge. As if single-handedly rebuilding her entire team hadn’t been challenge enough. That, however, had been professional.

She stared into his black eyes and knew the truth of it. This—he—was personal.

For the past ten years, personal and professional had meant the same thing to her. The team. Work. Since joining them she’d worked solo and was content with that arrangement. Every need she allowed herself to have, the team fulfilled.

She continued to stare into his eyes and felt starved. In fact, she couldn’t stop the thought that she’d never been so hungry in all her life.

“Then again,” he said, his voice no more than a purr, “keep looking at me that way and clothing or the lack thereof can become optional.”

She’d started this as a strategy to gain her freedom. Now all she could think about was what his hands would feel like on her. What would he feel like inside of her?

She swallowed in a desperate attempt to wet her throat.

He lowered his head. She felt his breath on her lips. He was going to kiss her.
Stop this before it’s too late.
Why was he taking so long? His eyes were half-closed, his lips warm when they brushed hers. Her eyes began to drift shut.

He lifted his head a fraction. “Wait a minute.”

Startled, she opened her eyes.
Some strategy, Giardi.
“Stalling, Blackstone?”

“You don’t bite, do you?”

“Only when provoked.”

He chuckled. It made her shiver. Damn him.

“Cold?” he asked, though he had to know she was anything but. “You’re the one with all the clothes on.”

“I thought you were going to remedy that.”

“Must have lost my head.”

“It’s time I started to use mine.” Without warning, she rammed her forehead up under his chin. Fortunately it worked, his head jerked backward and he released her hands. She didn’t stop to ponder what would have happened to her if he hadn’t let go.

Following through on the motion, she hooked her ankle around his and flipped him over, then clawed her way onto the bed. He recovered quickly and rolled to a crouch, ready to pounce.

She leveled the gun and fired. The bullet hit the wall beside his head. He froze. She lowered her aim to directly between his legs.

“Get dressed.”

FOUR

“Most women just say no.” Logan rubbed his jaw and worked hard to keep her in focus as lights winked in his peripheral vision. She’d administered a chin jab you didn’t learn from a training manual, but he’d be damned before he let her know how effective it had been. Hell, if he was honest, he’d admit she’d already had his head spinning before she had tried to coldcock him.

“I thought you’d figured out I’m not most women. Be thankful I didn’t go for your nose. That was my first choice.” She slid backward off the bed, then moved around to the end. Ten feet separated them. “Get dressed.”

Her demeanor was as no-nonsense as her tone, the gun was as steady as her gaze. If he hadn’t been half of the intimate twosome they’d just made on the floor, he’d have never believed she was capable of gasping in pleasure-seeking anticipation. “My clothes are under the bed.”

“Slide the bag out with your foot where I can see it.”

He did so, careful to move slowly. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been forced to put my clothes
on
at gunpoint.”

“First time for everything.”

He toed open the zipper flap, keeping his eyes on hers. She didn’t so much as glance at the duffel bag. He didn’t regret his professionally unwise tussle, and doubted he’d do things differently if given another chance. Well, he might kiss her first next time. If he lived that long.

“Move the bag back toward the wall next to you and slowly pull out the bare essentials. Try anything funny, and I’ll shoot the first body part I can aim this gun at.”

He didn’t believe her. She wasn’t going to shoot him. She didn’t seem to want to hurt him. A broken nose was the least of the damage she could have inflicted on him, but she hadn’t even done that.

No, she apparently wanted him whole and healthy. For what, he had no idea. He didn’t need to be the one on top to get his answers.

“And let me guess,” he said as he shoved the bag toward the wall with his foot, “you were first in your class at the firing range.”

“I was the range instructor.”

He slowly bent down, keeping his eyes on hers, and felt around for his jeans. “What force were you with?”

“One item at a time, and I want to see it.”

He didn’t expect an answer, but it was worth a try. He pulled a pair of worn blue jeans out and straightened.

“Toss them to me.”

“I took all the string and frogs out of my pockets already, Ma.” They landed on the bed beside her. She
scooped them up one-handed and draped them over her shoulder, feeling the pockets and seams before tossing them back to him, never once breaking eye contact.

He caught them. “Do you want to feel up my underwear too?”

“Just get dressed.”

Fairly confident she wouldn’t put a bullet in him—yet—he broke eye contact and bent to his bag. He felt her watching him as he pulled out briefs and a thickly woven, deep green rugby shirt.

“Give me the shirt. Put on your underwear and pants. No socks.”

“Barbarian. My feet are still cold.” He tossed the shirt to her, and she patted it down as he pulled on his other clothes. He caught her return toss and pulled the shirt on, leaving it untucked, the long tails hanging down to his thighs.

“Going barefoot in the snow was your own brilliant idea.”

He smacked his forehead. “Gee, what was I thinking? I could have stayed in my nice, warm bed, strapped in all nice and cozy. Silly me.”

“We can return to that arrangement, but that means another needle.”

He barely covered a flinch. “Thanks, but no.”

She waved her gun at him. “Walk, hands at your sides.”

She stayed a good ten feet behind him. Very well trained, he thought. With her reflexes, even a rear flying kick from that distance would probably miss her. A bullet from the same distance would not miss him.

“Stand beside the couch. There,” she said, pointing with her free hand.

“You missed your calling, you know,” he said, following directions as casually as he thought he could get away with. His nonchalant attitude irked her, even if she didn’t show it. It was a small weapon, but over time it could be very effective. He wondered how much time he had.