Summer Games (13 page)

“Raine,” he whispered, his voice thick with restraint and need, “you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Does it matter?” Her hands lifted to his face, then tugged his head down to her lips. “You know enough for both of us.”

“That’s the problem,” he said roughly.

He saw the instant of realization hit her, the stillness of shock. Embarrassment stained her cheeks. One moment she was pliant in his arms. The next she twisted free with the speed of the highly trained athlete she was.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a strained voice. “That was incredibly stupid of me.”

She stepped back on legs that felt weak. Silently, she called herself names. Stupid was the least of them. Just because Cord Elliot was the first man in her life who made her ache with hunger, that didn’t automatically mean he felt the same way. She had turned down men in the past. It was only logical that one would turn her down.

Especially a man like Cord. An experienced man would want an equally skilled lover. When it came to sex, she just wasn’t any good. Her last lover had made that painfully clear.

“Raine, there’s—” Cord began

“You’re right, of course,” she said, cutting across whatever sophisticated, kind, experienced explanation he was going to offer. She didn’t want to hear it. She had heard the only words that mattered.

He didn’t want her.

“I do have a curfew hanging over me,” she said. “But thanks for the guided tour. I’ll take a cab back to Santa Anita.”

“Cabs are scarce in L.A.”

“Then I’ll call up a limousine. The place is crawling with them. Good-bye, Cord.”

Even before the words were out of her mouth, she turned her back on him. Blindly she began hurrying along the path, knowing only that she had to get away from the man who didn’t want her nearly as much as she wanted him. She no longer saw the dazzle of city lights or the shadow dance of black trees and warm wind. She saw nothing but her own humiliation.

Not that he had intended to humiliate her, she admitted bitterly. He had been a gentleman until she had refused to take a hint. If he had been blunt, it was only because there had been no other way to get through to her.

She increased her pace, ignoring the wobble of her high heels. The sandals weren’t made for speed or distance, but right now she desperately wanted both. She could hear Cord coming closer, closing the space between them with long, determined strides.

“I’ll take you home,” he said quietly from behind her.

Like bloody hell you will, Raine thought savagely.

With two quick swipes she tore off her sandals. An instant later she was running flat out down the path, confident that she would quickly leave him behind. Part of her Olympic training involved running distances up to five kilometers. She had never particularly cared for the required exercise, but she appreciated the results.

Especially tonight.

Tonight she welcomed the physical release of running, the freedom of racing away from the man who didn’t really want her. Anger and humiliation became adrenaline coursing through her, feeding her desire to run. Part of her realized that she was heading away from the planetarium, into the black recesses of the huge park. She didn’t care. It felt too good to run.

When Cord realized that Raine was going to keep on running, he gave chase without even thinking about it. A hunter’s adrenaline coursed through him. Frustration goaded him.

He had never wanted her more than he did right now.

She ran lightly, silently, a green flame racing among the shadows and pools of light along the path, wildfire running free in the night. The coils of hair he had loosened with his fingers had come wholly undone. Hair streamed behind her like a flag. With each flashing stride, jade-green silk flowed in dark caress up her thighs.

She was faster than he had expected. Stronger, too. But her body hadn’t been honed in the same life-or-death kind of training that his had.

One instant Raine was running free. In the next, something hard clamped onto her arm, spinning her around until she slammed into a hard wall.

Even as she realized that the wall was Cord, he surrounded her. One of his hands tangled deeply in her hair, chaining her. His arms closed hard around her, crushing any thought of escape. He invaded her mouth, forcing her to accept the intimacy of his tongue thrusting into her softness while he held her immobile, consolidating his victory.

The transition between freedom and capture was so swift, so stunning, that for a time she couldn’t have fought even if he had permitted her to. When she finally tried, he easily countered her untrained struggles. Her helplessness would have frightened her if she hadn’t sensed that it was hunger rather than a desire to punish her that was driving him.

Whatever she had thought back on the overlook, he wanted her now with an honesty and an intensity that was more shattering than any words, any touch could have been.

Her body changed beneath his hands, softening and flowing over his hard male surfaces, surrendering what he had already taken. Her response mocked the very idea of victory or defeat, flight or capture, invasion or surrender.

She felt the shudder of desire rip through him, felt as much as heard the groan that began deep in his chest, felt and was inflamed by the sinuous movement of his hips as he lifted her. Then he let her slide down his body, silently telling her exactly how much he desired her.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” she whispered, when he finally freed her mouth.

He laughed once, harshly. “Kiss me.” His eyes looked hungrily at her mouth as he lowered his head again. “I want to feel your tongue rubbing over mine. Kiss me.”

She opened her lips, inviting the sweetness and heat of his mouth even as she sought his tongue, demanded it. She kissed him the way he had kissed her, nothing held back. Hunger raged through her with each stab of flesh sliding hotly against flesh. She pushed inside his jacket, seeking the hard, coiling male strength of him. Her fingers searched beneath his tie, then slid boldly into the opening between buttons on his shirt. Even as her fingertips found his skin, his hands cupped her breasts beneath the folds of green silk.

Cord drank the broken sound Raine made when he stroked her nipples until they were hard peaks begging to be kissed. His body was rigid, shaking, straining against the leash of clothes. Desperately needing what he shouldn’t have and couldn’t take, he raked his open mouth down her neck. He had just enough restraint left not to leave loving marks on her, staking out her smooth flesh as his own.

But he wanted to. He wanted to discover and claim every bit of her softness and feminine hunger, to feed and then to possess the heat inside her, to spend the night listening to the cries pouring out of her as she burned alive in her own fire.

With a groan, he kneaded her hips, loving the satin flex and slide of muscle when she moved against him. Beneath his jacket, a rider’s strong hands stroked around his body, encircling him, demanding that he come even closer. He lifted her against his heavy arousal, dragging her closer until all that held them apart was a few layers of cloth.

She gave a low, reckless cry and abandoned herself to the fire. Her head fell back as she answered with a swift movement of her hips, then another. He felt the tension and hot need in her, a sultry mirror of his own desire. Her nails raked down his spine until they found the gun nestled in the small of his back.

She went utterly still. Her withdrawal from him couldn’t have been more complete if she had turned and run again.

“I wouldn’t have expected Blue’s daughter to be afraid of a holstered gun,” Cord said in a husky voice, “but if it bothers you that much, I’ll take it off.”

“It’s not that.” She felt numb and foolish and totally off-balance. But she wouldn’t reach for him this time. She would find her balance on her own, because she remembered now. “I’d forgotten what you were.”

“What I am is a man.”

“Yes.” Her voice was distant and sad at the same time.

One of her hands slid beneath his jacket once again. This time she continued down to his waistline until she felt the hard case of the electronic pager fastened to his belt.

“You’re a man who has clothes specially tailored to conceal the bulges of beeper and gun,” Raine said. “Or is that your spare ammunition clip?”

“No,” he said, his voice even. “That’s on my right side.”

She didn’t bother to verify it. There was no need. The knowledge chilled her. She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to warm herself.

Seeing the gesture, understanding it, Cord swore savagely, caught in the aftershocks of hunger and a frustration that went much deeper than lust. He should have known better than to get involved with a woman like Raine. She was wealthy, successful, gently raised, and burned beyond recovery on the subject of certain types of work.

His type of work.

“I’m more than a gun and a beeper,” he said roughly.

“Really? My father isn’t.”

“Bullshit,” Cord snarled. “If you don’t believe me, ask your mother. She sure as hell knows what Blue is.”

“I’m not my mother. I want more from a man than money and position.”

“Blue loves your mother!”

“Perhaps,” Raine said politely.

“You don’t think so?”

Her false calm evaporated. “Depends on what you call love,” she retorted bitterly. “Being left without warning again and again, never being able to count on the man who ‘loves’ you for something so simple as a shoulder to sleep on, never knowing if he’s coming back, never—”

“He always has,” Cord broke in. “Other men might screw around, but Blue never did.”

Her laugh was like broken glass, all cutting edges. “I believe you. Only a wife would put up with a man who is ruled by a beeper. A mistress would tell him to go to hell.”

“Or a daughter?” he asked sardonically.

“Wife, mistress, or daughter, the beeper means the same thing. You’re second place in a two-entry race.”

“That’s not—”

“The hell it isn’t!” she cut in fiercely. “I had all I could take of second-class citizenship as a child. The kind of work my father does is important, addictive, and carnivorous. But then, I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, am I?”

“No.” The line of his mouth was grim as his voice. “The instant my beeper went off yesterday, I knew how you felt about my work. About me. That’s what I meant when I said that you didn’t know what you were doing. I knew you didn’t want me, even though you thought you did.”

She trembled, torn between fiery hunger and the numbing cold of childhood memories. “I wanted you.”

“Not enough to see past the gun and beeper. Not even for one goddamned night. I suppose I should be grateful. Neither one of us is the one-night-stand type. Sure as hell you would have hated me in the morning.” He bent and picked up the purse and sandals she had dropped when he caught her. “Here. Put your shoes on.”

She tried to, but couldn’t. Her fingers were shaking too much. With an impatient sound, he grabbed the sandals and fastened them on her feet. In silence, they walked back to the car. The silence remained unbroken until he pulled up and parked several doors down from her motel room.

“Give me your key.”

She stared at him as though he had lost his mind.

“Don’t worry, Baby Raine. I’m not planning to spend the night between your pristine sheets.”

“I don’t like that name,” she said tightly.

“I know.” His smile was no more than the biting edge of his teeth. He opened her purse and took out the room key. “Stay here.”

After a swift look around, Cord walked to the door of Raine’s motel room. No curtains moved in her room or in the rooms on either side. He tested gently to see that the door was still locked. It was.

Just as he lifted the key with his right hand, he caught movement at the corner of his eye. Even before he spun completely around, his left hand had yanked the gun out of its holster in the small of his back.

He recognized Raine before the muzzle cleared his belt.

With a startled gasp, she retreated two steps before her mind took over. Even though Cord didn’t look very civilized at the moment, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

“I told you to stay in the car,” he said curtly. He holstered the weapon with a quick, casual motion.

“I didn’t want to stay. So what?”

“Just this, Baby Raine. There might be a bomb behind this door, waiting for your key to complete the circuit.”

Her hand came up to her mouth in an involuntary gesture of shock. “But then you—you’d be the one to—”

“That’s my job,” he broke in impatiently. “Go back to the car.”

“But—”

“Relax. I’m more worried about someone waiting in your room than having a bomb going off in my face.”

Without another word she spun around and walked back to the car.

Cord opened the motel room and eased inside. He was all but certain that no one could have gotten past the agents who had rented the rooms on either side of Raine. Almost certain, but not quite.

That damned three percent.

Holding his breath, he listened for a minute. Nothing moved, nothing breathed. He flipped on the light, searched the places big enough to hide a person, and found exactly what the odds said he should. Nothing.

He went back to the car and walked Raine to her door. For a moment he stood there, very close to her, watching her with eyes that were as clear and empty as ice.

“You live in a beautiful castle, with a fire burning in every hearth,” he said finally. “I wish to hell there was a place by all that fire for me.”

He gave her a fierce, yearning kiss. Then he turned and went to his car, leaving her standing with his taste on her lips and her nails digging into her own palms.

He didn’t look back.

Raine pushed a wheelbarrow of feed up the dusty stable row. Southern California’s dry heat sucked up water almost as quickly as it came out of the sprinklers that worked to keep the dust under control. When she reached Dev’s stall, he wasn’t waiting as he usually did, with his neck stretched over the door and a soft nicker quivering through him.

“Good morning, Devlin’s Waterloo,” she said clearly. “I’m early, but not that early. Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead.”