Found Wanting (41 page)

Her mind went blank when she sank her teeth into the first bite. "Oh my God. Where did you learn to cook?"

"My mama taught me, of course."

"Your mama rocks."

He grinned, digging into his own steak. "If you're really nice to me, I might be able to talk her into giving you some lessons."

She cocked her head as she chewed, savoring the teasing glint in his eyes. "Are you saying you don't think I'd be a good cook?"

He exaggerated a surprised expression. "You cook? In three weeks, I saw you and your kid eat pizza, mac and cheese, pasta out of a box, sandwiches and what else? Oh, yeah, more pizza. There are other food groups, you know."

"Tell that to a teenage boy. The only way I can get any vegetables into him is if they're smothered with cheese and tomato sauce on a crust." Her eyes widened as she sampled the mashed potatoes. "Oh my. These are real."

"Potato flakes just don't do it for me."

"You know how to live, Mr. Kane."

"I think I'm remembering how."

As they ate in silence, Alaina's thoughts turned to Jonah. She wondered what he was doing, how he was doing, what he was thinking. Missing him was a pain that clamped around her heart like a fist. Helplessness squeezed it tight.

"He'll be fine, Alaina," Mitch said, as if reading her mind. "There are two people we trust -- Chuck and Julia -- keeping an eye on him. They won't let anything happen to him."

She met his eyes, felt a flutter inside. "How can you trust Chuck after what he did to you?"

"I trust him as an agent of the FBI, but I don't imagine we'll ever be friends again." He paused, studying her. Gradually, his eyes warmed, as if what he saw pleased him immensely. Then he held up the nearly empty wine bottle. "More merlot, darling?"

Her laugh was a bit breathless, and she imagined that was the response he was looking for. He enjoyed throwing her off guard, and the endearment did it big time. Darling. It was all so new and unreal. She, Alaina Chancellor, was sitting in front of a fire with a half-naked man, mellowed by wine and lovemaking ...

Mitch's lips curved. "Want me to pinch you?"

"Try it while I'm eating, and you might lose a thumb." She said it with a sweet smile.

"Fiery," he said, snagging a green bean off her plate.

"Hey!"

He shrugged as he chomped on it. "Mine are all gone."

"You should have paced yourself."

"I'll save that for later."

Flushing with anticipation, she flashed a wicked grin. "Good food. Good sex. You're going to spoil me."

"Actually, that's the idea," he said.

Setting aside her empty plate, she said, "I might start having expectations."

"Maybe I'll even meet those expectations."

"I think you've already surpassed them by far," she said.

Male pride broadened his smile. "Yeah?"

She nodded, draining the last of her wine. "But then, they were pretty low."

Growling, he reached out and dragged her laughing across his lap. "That sounded like a challenge."

"Are you up for it?" She trailed a fingertip up the center of his chest, enjoying the way his flesh quivered. Because of her caress. It made her feel powerful, in control. Desired.

"Oh, yeah," he said, his voice a rough rasp. "I'm up for it."

Chapter 31

"These are the best scrambled eggs ever."

Mitch chuckled, taking in Alaina's rosy cheeks and smiling gray-green eyes. She was propped against pillows, breathtaking in his T-shirt as she dug into the breakfast he'd whipped up while she'd dozed. They'd slept little during the night, yet this morning he felt more invigorated, more awake, than he had in years.

"I noticed you're adamant about constantly feeding me," she said. "If you're not careful, I'm going to expect a snack every time I wake up."

Chuckling, he leaned forward, cupping her cheek as he kissed her, pleased when she returned the embrace, her mouth hungry, sliding effortlessly into demanding. Her easy, heated response sent his pulse tripping. "You floor me," he said.

She gave a soft, self-conscious laugh as a faint blush colored her cheeks. "You mean you weren't just faking it all night?"

He shrugged. "I might have faked it one or two times, but mostly I enjoyed myself thoroughly."

Grinning, she swallowed a forkful of eggs. "What did you put in these to make them so tasty?"

"Hot sauce."

"Another cooking lesson from your mama?"

"Nope. My idea." He studied her, the way her hair fell into her eyes, the way she blew it away with a huff of air. The way the slim column of her throat flexed as she ate. The way her eerie green eyes glittered and darkened as they roamed his bare chest. He was pretty damn sure he'd fallen in love with her. In record time.

It took him a few moments to realize that Alaina had stopped eating and was watching him, her forehead creased.

He hated the wariness that crept into her eyes, hated the circumstances -- life's cruel twists and turns -- that had ensured its everlasting presence. He figured it would never go away, that she would always be braced for the next blow. He thought about what it would take to banish the wariness, imagined how satisfying it would be to slay her dragon, to be her hero.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" she asked.

Faking a leer, he snagged her hand on the bed and tangled his fingers with hers. "I'm thinking about what I'm going to do to you when you're finished with breakfast."

She dropped her fork and shoved the plate aside. "All done."

He shifted, drawing her down on top of him until her breasts under his T-shirt were flattened against his chest. Burying his hands in her hair, he kissed her, reveling in how her tongue sought his first. He tasted passion and hot sauce, the serrated edge of need.

It shocked him that he could still want her so desperately. The feeling appeared to be mutual as her hands raced over him, greedy in their quest for his flesh. When she rose over him, he tensed, gritting his teeth. "Wait," he gasped, his fingers gripping her hips.

She paused, her gaze, dark with heat, focused on his. He gestured weakly at the bedside table. Understanding, she reached for a condom. When he started to take it from her, she brushed his fingers away. "Let me," she said.

He clenched his eyes shut, concentrating on not blasting off in her hands.

Finally, she sank down, taking him in, and moaned low in her throat, almost a purr. Then she pulled his shirt over her head, tossed it aside and shook her hair back, her eyes closed. The graceful, uninhibited motion turned his blood molten. He had to force himself to hold still, to let her set the pace. When she did, it was so slow, so languid it was all he could do not to roll her under him and ravage.

She smiled down at him, catlike. "Come on," she murmured. "You can take it slow, can't you?"

He gulped at air that seemed too thick. "I can take whatever you've got," he replied, his voice strained, one hand gripping the edge of the mattress.

She laughed deep in her throat, then her breath caught, and she dropped her head back. He felt the tension coil in her muscles, felt her thighs flex against his. "Oh."

That one word, expelled on a hitch of strangled breath, very nearly sent him to the moon. Watching the wonder that spread over her features as her body rocked above him was sweet torment. And he couldn't take it anymore.

Grasping her hips, he surged up, changing their positions so fast that she blinked up at him in shock. "Your turn to squirm," he growled, and buried his mouth on hers.

The pace he set was hard, fast, and he noted with immense satisfaction that her hands clutched at the sheets, then his shoulders, then simply slid down his arms as if she didn't have the strength or presence of mind to hold on.

When she reared up with a sharp cry, he caught her close against him and pressed his forehead against hers as they exploded together.

After the tension drained out of her limbs, and she was limp in his arms, her breath still ragged, he kissed her damp temple. The silence was deafening after all the rockets that had just gone off in his head.

Sighing, she pressed a feather kiss against the scar that marred the skin of his left shoulder. The sweet gesture sent his heart soaring, and he didn't want to let her go. Ever. "Will you freak out if I tell you I think I love you?"

Alaina tensed in his arms, but before she could respond, his cellphone began to chirp in the other room. She started to shift, but he held her in place, reluctant to break their connection, or give her a chance to not respond to what he'd just said. "Ignore it," he said.

"It might be important."

Reluctantly, he acquiesced. "You're probably right." He eased away, smiling as she arched on an intake of breath. "Hold that thought," he said, brushing her forehead with a kiss.

In the other room, he flipped open the phone. "This better be good."

"It's Chuck. I need to meet with you and Alaina. It's urgent."

Mitch's sated mood vanished, and dread knotted his stomach. "What's going on?"

"I can't get into it over the phone. Let's meet --"

"I don't think it's safe," Mitch cut in, alarmed at Chuck's urgent tone but more concerned about keeping Alaina out of Keller's strike zone.

"I'll make it safe. Remember that place where we babysat the witness to that mob hit?"

"Sure."

"We'll meet you there. Twelve-fifteen."

The call cut off.

Lowering the phone, Mitch glanced at Alaina, who stood in the bedroom doorway, a sheet wrapped around her body. Her mouth was swollen, her eyes glazed with the aftermath of passion. As he watched, anxiety drew her features taut, chased the color from her cheeks.

"What is it? Is it Jonah?" she asked, so softly it was as if she feared giving voice to her fear would provide a higher power with ideas.

He shook his head. "He's fine. Chuck would have said so otherwise."

"Then what's going on?"

"I don't know."

"We'll meet you there."

Who was "we"?

* * *

As Mitch steered the rental car into the parking lot of the Hyatt in the Fair Oaks area of Fairfax, Virginia, Alaina gazed up at the tall, glass building. It had seemed to rise up out of the tops of budding trees as they'd approached, the lone high-rise in a D.C. suburb dominated by foliage, restaurants, apartment complexes and big-box stores.

"You babysat witnesses in style in the old days," she said. "All I got was a broken-down safe house in Manassas." She'd tried to sound light, but the nerves were evident in her voice.

Mitch turned off the car, then slid his hand over hers resting on her thigh and squeezed. "This guy was a trip. The Bureau treated him like royalty because all he had to do was clam up and their case was fried."