Hot Pursuit (23 page)

“Don't make it sound so painful.”

“Oh, it
was
painful. I hate being proved wrong. Besides, you're nowhere near my type. You're reckless and snappy and a complete irritation.” His fingers moved around her waist and he pulled her against him—not gently but with anger, as if compelled, and hating every second.

He shifted to be sure she felt the raw need she was kindling. “And it doesn't make any difference.”

“Hardly a compliment, Jack.”

“It's not meant to be a damned compliment. I'm changing and that makes me mad as hell. I don't like change.” He cupped her hips and drove their bodies together, closing his eyes. “Sex with you should be the last thing on my list, but I can't seem to think of anything else.”

“Who says I'd even
consider
having sex with you?” Her eyes narrowed. “You have the emotional range of a reptile and your literary knowledge stinks.”

“Thank God for it, too.” His fingers tangled in her hair. “You'd drive a man to drink in twenty-four hours.” His jaw hardened. “So, your place or mine? I'm going to die if I don't have you in the next fifteen minutes.”

Though her throat was dry, Taylor managed a laugh. “Is this your idea of foreplay?”

He pulled her head back slowly, every muscle taut. “No,
this
is.”

Chapter Twenty-six

He backed her against the bookshelf, catching her wrists in his hands—not hard, but not letting her go, either. Taylor realized he hadn't even kissed her yet and she was more aroused than she'd been in months.

Alarm bells went off.

She ignored them. “Do you do this often?”

“Not nearly often enough, I'm thinking.” Her blouse traveled up beneath his slow hands. He watched her as he flicked open the clasp of her bra.

“Are we about to do something amazingly stupid, Jack?”

“Sure as hell looks that way.” He shifted his legs, moving in closer, and her blouse slid from her shoulders.

Taylor's heart slammed hard. It was impossible to breathe, much less stay rational, with his hand exploring her breast and his lips cruising over her neck, then lower, nudging hollows, finding the exact spots that made her body tighten in a rush of liquid sensation until all she could think was
more more right now
.

Which was completely crazy.

She pulled away, dragging in a deep breath. “Maybe we should pretend this never happened.”

“That would be stupid. Besides, it wouldn't work.”

“Why not?”

“Because we're both too smart for that. We both know what's happening here.”

“
I
don't.”

“The hell you don't. And neither of us is going to walk away from this easily.”

Taylor closed her eyes, struck by the same awful certainty. “We haven't done anything yet.”

“We're thinking about it,” he said hoarsely. “Speaking for myself, I've been thinking about it nearly every waking moment.”

Taylor sighed. “We're probably making a big deal out of nothing.”

His eyes narrowed. His long fingers moved, stroking her tight nipples until the remaining air slammed out of her lungs.

“Or not,” she whispered.

“Damned right.” His lips closed over hers with slow, sensual friction, and then he added his tongue until Taylor struggled to be closer, to be hotter, to be
part
of him.

Now, right now.

Her hands went to his belt. Panting, she yanked his shirt free, sighing when she felt the planes of his chest against her fingers. He shoved away her hands, tugged off his shirt, then slanted her head back. His eyes were restless, greedy.

“Where
do
you get your ideas?”

“Now? You're asking me that now?”

“It's fascinating. Frightening in a way, too.” He kissed the hollow beneath her cheekbone, while his hands closed over her breasts, stroking, teasing.

Taylor could have sworn her head exploded.

“What, no answer?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head and then he sank in front of her, his lips covering her as his hands had done. He worked his way over the dark, aroused tips of her breasts with focused intensity, as if they were the only thing left in the universe and he meant to take his time so he missed no detail about them.

Which was fine with Taylor, since her blood was slow and heavy and her whole body was hot and getting hotter, especially between her legs when he trailed a hand up her thighs until he couldn't go any higher.

He hooked one finger. Her silk bikini panties took a quick descent and her skirt was bunched in his hand.

“Yes,” Taylor said, and he answered with something low and inaudible and Taylor pushed against his hand so that he found his way up and inside her. She lost herself in the pleasure of every hot, wet touch, surprising both of them when she said his name and dug her hands into his shoulders, moaning while something grew and grew until it dragged away her breath. Shuddering blindly, she swayed, grabbing the bookshelf and Jack's shoulders, only half aware she was falling. Lost completely, she slid along the row of books, their spines digging into her back while her knees gave way and Jack shot one arm around her waist. But they kept going and ended up on the floor.

She opened one eye.

She was sprawled on the Oriental rug, with her skirt bunched high and his leg wedged underneath her. “Did I break anything?”

“A few speed records,” he said hoarsely. “Otherwise, no.” He tried to hold her up, but she slid bonelessly down until her head rested on his bare chest.

He smelled wonderful, like doughnuts and aftershave and clean clothes. She felt his muscles bunch and shift beneath her, heard the steady pump of his heart just beneath her head. “God,” she whispered. “If I wasn't so amazed, I'd be embarrassed.” She wriggled closer against his chest. “Can we do that again sometime?”

She was pretty sure he chuckled, but it might have been a curse. She didn't wait to find out, because some instinct made her turn her head and slide her lips along his chest, then lower, until she felt the tight ridge of his zipper over the truly impressive erection straining beneath. Smiling, she explored those hard inches separated by taut denim.
Definitely built,
she thought, framing him with her fingers.

“This zipper has to go,” she whispered, suiting actions to words, with hands that were shaky.

“I doubt this is anywhere in my mission assignment,” Jack said harshly.

Taylor turned her head. “Complaints?”

“Hardly.” His jaw was locked, his eyes very dark. “But some other time.”

“
Now
, Jack. I want to feel you.”

He closed his eyes on a curse, then caught her body and hauled her up until she was propped against his chest. “Not now.” He brushed a strand of hair off her face. “Izzy's expecting a report in five minutes.”

She scowled. “So, I could be fast.”

Jack couldn't help it; he laughed. She was sulking—a beautiful, unbelievably sexual sulk, considering what she had in mind, and he gave a gritty gut-laugh that shook them both.

“You think this is
funny
?” she snapped.

“Honey, if I don't laugh right now, I'm going to be buried inside you so fast that your heart's going to stop.”

“Which would be wrong because . . . ?”

He traced her breasts, awed at her beauty and instant, responsive shudder. “Because when I'm finally inside you, I don't plan on rushing through the job.”

“When—not
if?
”

So she'd noticed that, had she? “That's right. Any complaints?”

She sat back, still frowning, then stretched slowly. Considering she was more naked than dressed, the sight made him grow ever harder, which he wouldn't have thought was physically possible.

“About a hundred.” She shoved back her hair and came shakily to her feet. In the process her skirt fell off, leaving her absolutely naked.

Jack closed his eyes on a groan.

“I didn't say I'd make it easy, Broussard. Just so you know.”

“Message received,” he said thickly. “Now would you please get some clothes on?”

“Maybe.” She picked up her skirt and tossed it over her shoulder “Maybe not. By the way,” she added in a voice like silk, “I sure do like your idea of foreplay.”

 

The woman was as dangerous as they came.

Jack let out a slow breath as she sauntered down the hall, long legs gleaming beneath the skirt tossed over her shoulder.

For some bizarre reason he was grinning, which was strange because the rest of his body was so hard that even thought required a major force of will.

A good thing that SEALs are expert at pain and suffering, he thought grimly. Something told him that being around Taylor O'Toole was going to occasion both.

He glanced at his watch, then pulled out his cell phone with a sigh. Time for Izzy's report.

“Yeah, it's me,” he said. “Any sign of Rains?”

“No luck—not that the Feds are saying much.” Izzy sounded disgusted. “Looks like he's still underground, and he's trusting no one.”

“What about the man who went after Taylor's sister? What about the hospital's video surveillance?”

“He used the service entrance off the doctors' lounge. No cameras there. He's good.” Izzy's voice hardened. “But we're still going to get him. I've got a new composite sketch based on descriptions from the witness at Tony's Little Shanghai and the nurse at the hospital in Monterey. I'll fax it through along with the building blueprints for the gala tomorrow.”

“So they're letting Taylor go after all?”

“Afraid so. The good news is, she'll only need to be there for about forty-five minutes, just to take part in the auction.”

“A lot can happen in forty-five minutes,” Jack said grimly. “I want a complete guest list, along with the store's security plan.”

“On its way. I'll try to get you one other person for the evening. Meanwhile, S.F.P.D. will be around since the mayor will be there, and I hear he's a big fan of Taylor's books. He's making some kind of speech.”

Jack moved restlessly through the room, listening to water run in the bathroom. “Any updates on the missing Navy bioweapons expert?”

“Maybe. It seems a yacht ran aground off the Oregon coast last night. When the Coast Guard boarded, they said it had been completely trashed. Fires in both staterooms, furniture gone. Even the fixtures were ripped out.”

“You don't think it's that simple.”

“I asked them to send me pictures and there was a lot of burned and broken glass, so I sent in a forensics team to pull some blood samples. Our Navy scientist had definitely been onboard.”

Jack frowned. “The glass was from broken lab equipment?”

“Bingo. We found traces of assay material and chemicals consistent with recombinant DNA work in progress.”

“So he's alive, at least. Anyone see the crew?”

“We're working on it. Preliminary inquiry suggests most of the hired help were illegals.”

“Let me guess,” Jack said grimly. “South American.”

“Right again. But we found other blood, too. This time it belonged to Rains. He may have escaped in the explosion.”

Jack gave a soundless whistle. “Any samples from the broken glass to suggest what they were making?”

“Plant lectins. Dangerous stuff. Genetically modified to enhance its toxic capability.”

“Ricin.”

“No question about it.” Izzy made a sound as if shuffling papers. “And this stuff is a variety more lethal than anything we've ever seen. Right now, we don't have a hint of an antidote.”

“That's what Rains was up to.” Jack stared at the traffic racing along the street. “I should have shot him inside that convenience store.”

“My sentiments exactly. I know you're going to be busy prepping for security at that charity event, but I need you to run some possible scenarios. Airborne or waterborne targets are both possible. They would probably go after something accessible, a civilian venue with the highest casualty option.”

“Like a stadium.” Jack bit back a curse. “Or a music event.”

“Give me whatever you can come up with. I'm running some computer simulations so we aren't sitting on our asses if these wackos get serious.”

“It would help if your tech people could determine means of transmission. The recombinant form ought to show some evidence of that.”

“I'll get them on it,” Izzy muttered. “How's Taylor?”

“Crazy as ever. Of course, she'll be thrilled about tomorrow's event.” Jack picked up a framed photo of Taylor with a tall man seated at an impressive desk. His eyes narrowed. “Is it true that the vice president is a fan of hers?”

“That's what I hear. The word is, he passes on the books to the man in charge, but that's never been confirmed. By the way, one more thing. You'll be getting a visit tomorrow morning from a tailor with your tux.”

“The hell I will,” Jack growled.

“Orders, my friend. You have to look presentable for the press.”

“
I
won't be seeing any press. Besides, I've got a perfectly decent suit hanging in the closet.”

“Black-tie, remember? I told the tailor to factor in room for your shoulder holster. I've worked with him before, so he knows the drill.”

Jack thought of an evening of aggressive interviewers, crowded bodies, and the security nightmare both presented. “Do me a favor. The next time I accept a mission away from the water, just shoot me.”

Izzy was chuckling as he hung up.

The charity gala was bound to be chaos. Anyone with half a brain would have nixed Taylor's appearance at a sensitive time like this, but the presence of half a dozen Navy bigwigs put a different spin on things. In these days of budget reviews and Senate Oversight Committee investigations, the Navy needed all the good publicity it could get. Canceling a major event at the last minute, with no reasonable explanation, would have resulted in a shipload of bad press. So the plans stayed, and since Taylor was part of the publicity,
she
stayed.

Jack would need blueprints of the building, a detailed guest list with photos, and all the security arrangements—which were bound to be next to nil. If he knew Izzy, the material should be arriving next door any second for Jack's review. With a bit of luck, he could persuade Taylor to stay in for dinner, giving him more time to work.