Sandra Hill (26 page)

Do I really want that?

Hell, no! Commit myself to a woman who might very well be a time-traveler, mental patient, reincarnated dingbat, or God only knows what? Hell, no!

On the other hand, hell, yes! I can’t stop thinking about her. She puts me in my place. She makes me happy. She surprises me all the time. I never know what’s going to come out of her mouth. She screws my brains out, then pulls the plug on sex. Well, we both pulled that plug, but who cares? A plug is a plug.

Sam came up and rubbed herself against his leg. That was a surprise. Sam had been ignoring him ever since Maddie came on the scene. He reached down and ruffled the cat’s fur. “Guess it’s you and me, babe. When this is all over, it will be back to you and me.” Sam looked as sad as he felt.

Ian went over to the stove and took off the lid. Yep, crab gumbo. He took a wooden spoon and tasted. Ummm. Cage knew what he was doing when it came to Cajun cooking.

Ian heard soft voices from down the hall. They were probably in his office surfing the net again. “Yo, Cage,” he yelled out.

The talking stopped. Then Cage said, “Be right there.”

A few minutes later, when he came to the kitchen where Ian had already opened a bottle of beer, Cage had Pretty Boy tagging after him. Ian’s brow furrowed with confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a day off,” Pretty Boy said, “and decided to drop by.”

“Why?”
He’d better not be hustling Maddie.

“Why not?” Pretty Boy said, then looked at Cage. “You comin’? Since Mac’s back, you probably don’t have to stay.”

They both looked at Ian, and he nodded. “Go. I have paperwork to do, and it can be done here as well as at the base.”

“Are you sure?” Cage asked. “We could stay.”

“Yeah, I’m dying for some crab gumbo,” Pretty Boy said.

Cage elbowed Pretty Boy.

“You two are acting dingy. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” they both said at the same time.

“Maybe we’d better go,” Cage said.

“Yeah,” Pretty Boy agreed dolefully.

Ian noticed that they practically dragged their feet as they picked up their weapons and put them in special carry-alls that disguised their contents from any tangos watching the house. Finally, after dawdling for five minutes more, they left.

Ian took his beer and briefcase into the living room. He picked up the remote and turned on the TV, channel surfed till he found a ball game, then spread his papers out on the coffee table.

Where’s Maddie?
he thought as another ten
minutes went by, and there was no noise coming from down the hall.

Maybe she’s taking a nap. Yeah, that must be it.

He worked for another few minutes, then threw his pen down in disgust.
I am not thinking about her on the bed. And I am definitely not thinking about a little Afternoon Delight.

He took a long swallow from the long neck, put his hands behind his neck, leaned back and contemplated the fireplace.
She has a hell of a nerve cutting me off, demanding my help in exchange for sex. Like she’s that special. Chicks are a dime a dozen. I could go down to the Wet and Wild, even now in the middle of the day, and chances are I could pick up a hot number. A one-nighter, that’s what I need.
Why that idea had no appeal, he couldn’t say. Actually, he could say. He’d been sick of one-nighters long before Maddie came on the scene. Now that she had come, he felt sick to his stomach even considering such a thing.

Sam jumped up on the couch and sat next to him. He could swear the cat looked sad.
Misery loves company, I guess.
Ian closed his eyes and sighed.
My life sucks.

He heard Maddie coming down the hall, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. His eyes flew open.
Clicking? High heels click. Not sandals or sneakers, which is all she has. Uh-oh.

Sitting up straighter, he watched as Maddie stepped onto the living room carpet. He was speechless. That was all. Utterly, friggin’, out-of-this-world speechless.

She wore the tightest pair of black jeans ever plastered on to a woman’s body. She must have lain
down on the floor to get them on. Even then, she had to have had help.
Cage and Pretty Boy! I’ll kill them.

On her feet were red, high-heeled, toeless shoes … stilettos, he thought they were called. Her toenails had been painted red to match. Where the hell did she get those shoes, and who painted her toenails?
Cage and Pretty Boy! I’ll kill them.

Up top—
be still my heart
—she wore a black leather bustier that left her arms, shoulders and half her chest bare, right down to a pair of uplifted breasts that just might pop the laces.
If those two jerks helped or watched her put this on, I’ll definitely kill them.

Even her face and hair were different. Her hair was loose and mussed. In fact, it looked as if someone had curled the long strands.
Where in God’s name did those two men learn how to do that to a woman’s hair?

She wore red lipstick, too. And makeup, he was pretty sure. At least there was dark stuff on her eyelashes.

All this passed through his mind as she paused in the doorway. She licked her lips nervously.

A Blue Steeler popped right up in his pants.

She walked over to the chair across from the sofa and attempted to sit down. He should have been laughing at how difficult it was for her to bend, but there was nothing funny when your erection was about to burst the zipper at your crotch.

Finally she perched on the edge, looked over at him and said, cool as you please, “What’s up?” She must have learned that expression from her two bozo makeover artists.

In answer to her question, he looked down at his lap.

She had the grace to blush. Damn straight she should blush.

“What’s up with you, Madonna?”

Her shoulders slumped. “You think I look like the mother of God? Pfff. Cage and Pretty Boy said …” She let her words trail off as she realized she was revealing too much.

He hadn’t been giving her words full attention, at first. He was too busy watching the rise and fall of her incredible breasts. Apparently, she was having trouble breathing. He started to grin, then stopped himself. “No, I didn’t mean
that
Madonna. I meant the other one with the cone-shaped breast things.”

“What is a cone?”

“Never mind. So, what’s new?”

“Well, I learned to shag today.”

“What?”

“You do not have to yell. I am right here. And, by the by, there comes that vein again. Really, you should do something about that. I knew a trader once who—”

“Who did you shag?” he asked icily.

She frowned at him. “Who? I did not shag anyone. I
did
the shag with someone. Cage. He really is a good dancer. Are you a good dancer?”

“No.”

“You should ask Cage to teach you. He even knows how to dip. Do you dip?”

Ian put his face in one hand and counted to ten. Then he looked at her. “Am I supposed to interpret this outfit as an invitation?”

Her body went stiff as a board, or as much as was possible in her hooker outfit. “Why would I invite you to anything? I told you that you are no longer
welcome to … you know. Have you changed your mind about helping me to raise an army?”

“Hell, no!”

“Then I have nothing more to say to you. Mayhap you should call Slick to come over so that I may ask him if would be willing to help me raise an army.”

“No way!” he bellowed.

“You do not give me orders. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“You are not meeting with any other man in that … that outfit,” he sputtered.

“What’s wrong with my apparel?”

“That outfit is sex bait, pure and simple.”

“So?”

“Why are you wearing it if you’re not inviting me?”

“Practice.”

Aaarrgh!
“Practice for what?”

“For when I leave here. I must needs make my way in the world when I interview candidates for my army.”

“And who, pray tell, are these men you are going to interview in that
attire?
”

“Mercenaries.”

Not in this lifetime!

“There are men who fight for money, you know.”

“I know, but where is the money coming from?”
As soon as she leaves the room, I am going to hunt out those frickin’ jewels of hers and hide them till she gives up the ludicrous idea of a personal army.

“I have nothing more to say to you.” She raised her chin haughtily and proceeded to walk away, and once again he had the niggling feeling he had seen her before. But then he didn’t think any more
because he almost lost it just looking at her ass in those tight jeans.

Ian decided to take a cold shower …
again
. He was beginning to develop prune skin.

A half hour later he came down to the kitchen, where Maddie was standing before the stove, stirring the gumbo. A rock station was on the radio and she was doing this kind of shimmy as she danced in place to “Wild Thing.” Apparently, Cage had taught her more than the Cajun two-step and the shag. He spun around and returned for another cold shower. After that he shut himself in his office and did his work there. Good thing, too. His cell phone rang constantly with messages related to the upcoming trap being set.

It must have been five o’clock before he heard a soft rap on the door. “Yeah?”

Maddie cracked the door open and said, “You don’t have to bark at me.” She was wearing the same enticing outfit, but she’d ditched the high heels—her feet had probably been killing her—and her lipstick had worn off. “Dinner is ready if you’re interested. But don’t consider that an ‘
invitation
.’ I’ve already eaten.”

He started to apologize for snapping at her. His distress wasn’t her fault. Well, actually, it was her fault for dressing like that. It wouldn’t do any good to apologize anyway, because she was already sashaying down the hall.
Lordy, lordy!

“By the by,” she said, turning and walking backward. “Do you like blow jobs?”

Ian almost swallowed his tongue. He would kill whoever taught her that phrase. Or maybe he wouldn’t. “Yeah. Why?”

“Because you’re never getting one from me.” She turned and continued walking away from him.

Amazing!

In the empty kitchen, which he noticed that Maddie kept spotlessly clean, he scooped some gumbo and white rice onto a place, then added a couple of slices of French bread. He walked to the table and was about to sit down, but decided he wasn’t hungry after all.

He went to the living room, where Maddie was stretched out on the couch, all five feet ten inches of hot stuff. She was watching—Ian checked and had to grin—the weather channel.

He went over to the side of the couch and stared down at her. “Maddie?”

“What?” she asked, not even looking up at him.

“Let’s cut the crap. I want you. You want me. Let’s go to bed and screw each other’s brains out.”
I have the charm of a slug.

“Who says I want you?” She looked up at him now.

“I say so.” He hunkered down beside her and took her hand in both of his. “Come on, sweetie. You win.”

“I do?” she said brightly, turning on her side. When she did, her breasts almost fell out of the leather bustier, and his heart almost stopped. “Does that mean you’ll help me raise an army to go back to Norstead?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, it doesn’t mean that. Is that the only way you’ll let me in?”

She nodded.

“Sounds a little bit like prostitution to me.” That sounded crude, even to his own ears.

But Maddie didn’t seem offended, just angry. She slapped his hand away. “Let me tell you something.
If spreading my thighs for that beast Steinolf would have saved Norstead, I would have done it in a trice. If that be prostitution, so be it.”

“Are you putting me in the same class as that monster?”

She sighed tiredly. “No. No, I’m not. I’m just trying to explain how important regaining Norstead is to me. I’ll do anything to accomplish it.”

“Even sleep with me?”

She nodded. “Even that.”

“It’s not much of a compliment.”

She shrugged. “When I started this seduction game …”

Seduction game? Is that what this is? Why didn’t someone tell me? I don’t mind being seduced.

“…I had a two-fold purpose.”

You’ve got my attention, baby. This oughta be good.

“I wanted to change your mind about helping me raise an army …”

I am sick to my eyeballs of hearing about this fictional, never-gonna-happen army of hers.

“… but I also tried to seduce you just because …”

I’d like to think … but no, you never can predict what she’ll come out with next.

“… because you make me all fluttery
all the time
.”

A slow smile crept onto his mouth, and he didn’t even try to stop it. “That’s a good thing, Maddie. Why do you look so sad?”

She sat up. Since he was still hunkered down, they were eye to eye. “You are a military man. How important is honor to you?”

Huh? We were talking about sex.
“Very important. Why?”

“Because it is equally important to me. If I made love to you again, knowing how little regard you have for my quest, then I would be without honor.”

That is the most fantastic bit of female illogic I have ever heard.
“I don’t see it that way.”

“I know you do not,” she said sadly.

Now he was growing angry because, frankly, he was beginning to understand that he wasn’t getting any tonight. “How much honor is there in trying to seduce me to your way of thinking?”

She seemed to actually ponder his argument, then shook her head. “If your refusal to help me was a point of honor, then it would be dishonorable of me to try to seduce you. But since your refusal is based on mere muleheadedness and lack of trust and belief in me”—she shrugged—“my method was fair.”

He threw his hands up in disgust. “You are crazy. That’s it. No more begging. There are other fish in the sea.”

Walking away from her, he thought he heard a stifled sob, but he was probably mistaken. Talk about muleheadedness … she took the prize there.