His to Take (30 page)

Gripping Bailey tighter, Joaquin kissed his way up her neck, down her jaw, back to
her lips. “I can’t do without you.”

She froze, looking at him as if she understood the gravity of this moment, as if it
bound her to him as much as he felt bound to her. “You don’t have to, I swear.”

*   *   *

THEY didn’t sleep much that night. Joaquin woke her up twice more to make love to
her, each time slower and more tender than the last. At the end, he curled his fist
in her hair and looked straight into her eyes as he glided his way deep inside her,
sure and straight and inexorable. He took; she yielded. But he gave back, too, in
devotion and pleasure.

Now the sun peeked out behind the hotel’s blackout drapes, waking Bailey from her
hard sleep. As she rolled over and peeked one eye open, Joaquin sat on his side of
the bed, a map spread across the sheets, phone in his hand. He peered from one to
the other and frowned.

“Morning, sunshine.” He looked clean and put together, like he’d already showered
and dressed to take on the day.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” she groaned.

“Too restless. I’m thinking about where Viktor might have taken you to hide what I
sure hope is his research. I’m looking all around this map, but there are so many
damn lakes.”

Grabbing the sheet, she sat up with a grimace. Sitting next to a hot guy with the
sweat of their sex still coating her skin and just knowing she had morning breath
was something she wanted to correct ASAP.

“Be right back.” She hopped up, grabbed the backpack, and headed for the bathroom.

After quickly using the toilet, she hopped in the shower. Ducking her head under the
hot spray of water and letting it sluice through her hair and down her body felt like
a necessary comfort. She moaned.

Suddenly, the shower curtain whisked across the rod, and a cold blast of air pelted
her skin. She opened her eyes. Joaquin watched her with a burning stare that questioned
how quickly he could have her in bed with his cock deep inside her again.

She flushed and tried to cover herself with the curtain. “What are you doing?”

“Besides enjoying the view?” he quipped, tugging the curtain out of her hand. “You
moaned, and I wondered if you were having fun without me.”

She tsked at him. “The water just felt good on my skin, you perv.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, staring up and down her wet, naked figure.

“It did! And now you’re shamelessly peeking at me like you’re the big wolf and I’m
your prey.”

“I like that analogy. Let’s roll with it.” He reached out for her.

Bailey lurched back, wagging her finger at him. “No more until I’m clean and you’ve
fed me. Otherwise, I’ll have to call the U.N. or something and complain that you don’t
follow Geneva Convention rules.”

He gave a hearty laugh that bounced off the bathroom’s little walls. “Geneva Convention?
You’re not a prisoner of war, baby girl.”

“I’m sure the same rules apply to kidnappers turned sex gods.”

“Sex god? I like that even better.” His grin widened. “It’s your lucky day. I already
have some coffee in the little pot near the TV. It’s shit, but it’s coffee.”

“That’s enticing,” she said, tongue-in-cheek.

“Yep. And I’m sure you’ll really love the cardboard muffins I found in the breakfast
area downstairs when I grabbed the map.”

“Not so much. Who eats that crap every day? You have something against protein?”

He shrugged. “I’m at the mercy of this hotel since I didn’t want to leave you for
more than a minute.”

Bailey sighed. He was right. The choices sucked from a nutrition standpoint, but she
wouldn’t starve. “Fine. So you’re using the map to try to figure out where Viktor
took me as a kid?”

He nodded. “Do you remember any landmark you visited on that trip? If so, I should
be able to at least pinpoint whether he drove you north, south, east, or west. Right
now, I’ve got nothing.”

“Can you give me a minute alone? Your Peeping Tom impression is distracting me.”

“Because you don’t want me to look at you?” He scoffed. He knew better.

“No. Because I don’t want to jump on you before breakfast. I’ll get sidetracked and
we’ll never figure out where to go next.”

“Fair enough.” He nodded her way, grinning. “I’ll get some coffee and muffins together
for you so they’ll be ready when you’re out of the shower. Don’t keep me waiting too
long or I’ll have my wicked way with you again, Geneva Convention be damned.”

Bailey shook her head and laughed. “Go. You crazy man.”

Joaquin left reluctantly, and she finished her shower, threw on some clothes, then
brushed her teeth. With a towel wrapped around her wet hair and her skin scrubbed
clean, she felt relatively human again.

As soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, he handed her the prefab breakfast he’d
thrown together. “Here you go.”

“At least I know you don’t mean to starve me for answers.” But the muffin sure looked
as if it had been mass-produced out of recycled paper products. She might grumble,
but she appreciated him trying. Giving him a hard time was simply fun.

“So . . . anything yet?” she asked him, nodding at the map on the bed.

“Nothing. I won’t be able to do much until I get a sense of which direction Viktor
traveled when you all packed up and left this town. I need to figure it out quickly.
Checkout time is at eleven.”

“We’ve got time, right? It can’t be that late.” Bailey looked toward his nightstand
and found the clock. “Ten fifteen? I slept that long?”

“Yep. I guess that means I wore you out.” He looked damn proud of himself.

She swatted his arm. “You’re impossible . . . but maybe you did.”

“Then my day is complete. Well, except the part where I’m supposed to save you from
the bad guys. I’m still working on that.”

“I appreciate it.” She sobered and sipped at her coffee, trying not to choke. “Oh,
that is shit.”

“Sorry.”

Bailey shrugged. “Not your fault. Can I see that map?”

Forcing another sip of coffee down, she picked at the muffin as Joaquin rearranged
the map so she could get a better view. But nothing registered with her. She couldn’t
recall seeing any sign that said they’d left one state or entered another. There seemed
to be a big, black hole in her recollections of that trip.

“If I had to guess, Viktor drove north. The Great Lakes would give you lots of possibilities
for docks and signs by water. But he might have taken you east to see some sights.
There are quite a few lakes along the way if he did that, too. Did you go to D.C.
maybe?”

She shook her head. “No. Every place he took us seemed off the beaten path. There
weren’t many people. None of the places even seemed as if they got a lot of campers.
I don’t remember seeing a lot of amenities for them. Then again, I was five, so maybe
I just wasn’t looking.”

Joaquin took her shoulders in hand. “I need something to follow. There’s no way we
can drive around aimlessly until we find something that looks familiar. That’s a fucking
needle in a haystack.
Anything
you can give me would be helpful.”

She looked at the map again, but all the little lines representing the highways and
roads just blended together for her. Frustrated at herself, she sighed. “Maybe I should . . .
This will sound crazy to you, but if you can find me a place I might be able to spread
out and dance, that might help. It focuses my mind and centers me.”

“Dance?” He blinked.

Yeah, she’d known that would sound nuts to someone who didn’t spend their life
en pointe
. It was tough to explain the way she could let her thoughts just flow as her movements
did. Sometimes, when she focused too much on something, nothing happened. But releasing
the tension and clearing her head seemed to make her unconscious mind work in her
favor. It couldn’t hurt to try now.

“Please.”

“All right. I think I saw a place when I was downstairs. Let’s pack up and head out.
I’ll even try to find you some protein once we blow this joint.”

Bailey sidled up to him and wrapped her arms around the strong column of his neck.
Heat flared in his eyes again. Would he ever stop looking at her that way? Gosh, she
hoped not.

“That would be perfect. Thanks.”

Without a word, they gathered up their stuff and packed it all back in Joaquin’s backpack.
He opened the door and scanned the parking lot in both directions. It must have been
empty because he motioned her out. Sure enough, she didn’t see anyone in sight.

Joaquin guided her to a hallway beside the front desk. A variety of meeting rooms
shot off from the main walkway on both the left and the right. Some doors had been
shut. Voices rose from behind them. Signs in little brass frames standing nearby proclaimed
those rooms to be in use.

Joaquin continued leading her farther down until they came to a ballroom. He yanked
the door open. It stood perfectly empty except for some tables on their sides, a few
stacks of chairs, and a pile of white linens.

“I saw an electronic sign in the lobby earlier. Some sales group is having an awards
dinner here tonight, but it doesn’t start until six thirty.”

“They’ll start setting up long before then, but we’ll be gone. Can you leave me alone
for a few minutes?” Already, she was looking forward to the moment she could turn
on her music and become one with it, clear her thoughts and just be.

“No.” His denial was immediate and whiplike. “We have no idea who else might be here.
I’m not leaving you alone, especially if you’re about to put yourself into a state
where you’re not really paying attention to your surroundings.”

“I doubt anyone will think to look for me here,” she argued.

“Maybe not, but I’m not willing to take that chance.” He shrugged. “Your choice. Either
you dance while I’m in the room or you don’t dance at all.”

Bailey frowned. She knew he’d seen her before. Dancing wasn’t generally a private
activity. She did it for audiences. But connecting with her thoughts and using her
movement to let go of every pretense and simply breathe? She never willingly did that
in front of anyone.

Still, did she have a choice? And didn’t he have a point?

“All right. Can I have my phone? My music is on there.”

“If you promise to ignore the twelve voicemails.”

She blinked as if he’d gone crazy. “Twelve?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re all from Blane, except one from a number that’s not in your
contacts. That one I’m still tracking down, but coming up empty so far.”

She blew out a breath. “Fine. But Blane has to be freaking out by now.”

“Blane will live. In fact, he’s more likely to live if he knows nothing of your whereabouts.”

Joaquin had another good point, damn him.

Bailey held out her hand. “All right. I won’t listen to any of the voicemails or try
to return the calls.”

“I’ll be watching.” He smiled tightly as he slid the mobile into her palm.

“You’re being like an overprotective older brother. I’m not Kata.”

He shot her a sidelong glance. “If you think I’ve behaved like your brother lately,
then I need to strip you down and fuck you again because apparently you’ve already
forgotten.”

She’d never forget. “No, I haven’t.”

“Good to hear.” He winked.

Their camaraderie relaxed her, and when she curled her fingers around her phone, another
notch of tension eased inside her. She flipped through the screens, noting the almost
full battery. “You’ve been charging it?”

“Just in case anyone interesting calls.”

Bailey didn’t love that he’d invaded her privacy, but she understood that he’d done
it to try to catch the murderous crazies after her. So she held her tongue and started
her music. One of her favorite instrumental tunes had always been a great warm-up
song, so as the opening notes filtered through the air, she began stretching and moving,
bringing her body back to life. She thanked goodness that Callie had given her stretchy
clothes she could be free in.

That song flowed into the next. She lamented the absence of her toe shoes, but she
could do plenty without them. So when her muscles felt loose and the music started
calling to her soul, she slipped into the vast, empty middle of the room. Industrial
carpet wasn’t her favorite surface to dance on, and when she found a few dozen wooden
parquet floor tiles meshed together with a brass border to resemble a dance floor,
she ran, leapt, and executed a jeté onto the hard surface. She immediately stepped
into a series of pirouettes . . . and then let the music overtake her body and mind.

One song bled into the next. She tried to open her mind without focusing on the fact
that Joaquin watched her. But she could almost feel his fascination emanating from
across the room. It bolstered her. For the first time, she felt beautiful and feminine
dancing, sort of like a little girl living her fairy-tale castle dreams.

She remembered the times Viktor would let her take over Mikhail’s fort with Annika
and play. She and her sister would be princesses locked away in a tower. Her biological
father would pretend to ride to her rescue. Then he would tickle her. They would all
giggle.

The “vacation” he’d taken them on shortly before the murders hadn’t been fun at all.
No laughing or tickling or levity. She remembered her parents arguing the night before
Viktor had taken her to the lake. They’d been to see a big outdoor field earlier that
day. But not just a field. There had also been a museum. She frowned, trying to bring
the memory into focus.

Another song began. She performed an arabesque, then brought her leg in front of her
body in a slow
développé
. The museum . . . it depicted a time when photography had been very new. Lots of
grainy black-and-white photos of dead bodies lying in fields. They’d worn uniforms
of different colors and—

“Gettysburg!” she shouted over the music, then flipped it off, shoving the phone into
her front pocket as she ran toward him. “We visited Gettysburg.”