The Risqué Target (12 page)

The collision plowed the van right into a telephone pole, pinning it. He slammed on the brakes, grabbed the handle to open the door, and jerked it. It wouldn’t open. “What the hell?” he said aloud.

The lock must've jammed from the impact. He checked the passenger’s side, but it was stuck as well. The windows only made it about an inch before stalling and coming to a complete stop. He rolled onto his back. He couldn’t see into the van at all. He had to make sure his Target wasn't hurt—a thought he found ironic, if there’d been time to laugh about it. He grabbed the headrest with one hand and the steering wheel with the other, raised his feet and used his building frustration to pound on the partially opened window. After several blows the thick glass finally shattered like rock candy, scattering shards all over him. He squeezed his large frame through the window.

He found the van’s driver out cold with a huge gash across his forehead. Tantum assumed he was dead, or at least out of commission. He ran to the back, reaching for the door, but stopped.

Nala stood with a gun in her shaky hand, aimed at the man who’d pulled her into the van.

“You okay?” Tantum asked.

She smirked at him. “What? You think I can't handle myself?”

“Didn’t say that. Just checking.” He went over to the other man, who was leaning against the van. Actually, the van was holding him up. Without a thought, Tantum cracked him in the face with his fist and the man fell to the ground. He shook his fist out, but smiled. After the dragging over the pavement, hitting the man responsible felt damn good.

“What'd you do that for? We could've interrogated him, found out who sent him and why.” Nala rolled her eyes.

“He wouldn’t say anything. Besides, he pissed me off. Nobody takes something of mine and gets away with it.”

Nala turned her weapon on him. “What do you mean, something of yours? The only thing he took was me.”

He thought of several answers, all of them calculated to evoke delicious fury from her. But before he could choose one, she staggered, caught her foot, and tried to straighten.

He stepped toward her.

The gun drifted downwards. She jerked it up directed at him, but her eyes fluttered oddly. She was going to pass out at any second. “I-I don’t… belong to you.”

He lunged forward, knocked the gun aside before it could hurt anyone and captured her in his arms before she hit the pavement. “You do belong to me. You know it as well as I do.” Her freckles stood out against the pallor of her skin, and her pale blue eyes struggled to refocus. He placed his fingers against her neck and felt her pulse racing.

Her face tensed as the pain she’d been hiding overcame her. “Never. I will never belong to you,” she whispered, a feeble attempt at protest.

“Where are you hurt?”

“My—” she groaned, giving in. Her tiny nose scrunched up and her lips thinned. “My shoulder.”

His hand went to her left shoulder, the one she'd been guarding. He pressed on it, and she screamed. The sound tore at his heart, and that scared the hell out of him. He snatched his hand back.
Fuck, it's dislocated
. Her pain sent a strange sensation to the pit of his gut. It enraged him. He wanted to make it stop, but he’d have to sedate her first. Strong narcotics were needed for the manual reduction of a shoulder. He wanted her to pass out, so they could get out of there before the cops showed up. Bystanders were starting to pool around the car. “Close your eyes, Nala,” he coaxed, and to his abatement, she did. “That's it, sweetheart. Just let the darkness relax you. It’s okay to go to sleep.”

“It-it hurts,” she muttered in a soft, defeated voice.

His chest tightened. “I'll make the hurt go away, but you need to sleep.”

“No….” She gasped for a breath. “I-I can't….” She fought the no doubt excruciating pain and tried to sit up, but she couldn’t, and finally she leaned back into his arms.

Tantum cradled her close to him. He bent close to her ear, shielding her from the audience of nosey onlookers. “It's okay. I'll keep you safe. I promise.”

It was the truth, and in that instant, he knew no harm would come to his target, at least not on his watch. All at once, as he looked at the beautiful woman in his arms, his betraying vengeance was replaced by something else. An irrational urge to protect her.

She glared up
through hooded eyes. “Will you… will you keep me safe?” She struggled to hold her eyes open. “Even from you?”

He smiled at her suffering, her valor. “Yes, sweetheart. I will keep you safe. Even from me.” He ran a finger down her cheek.

Even with closed eyes, Nala instinctively knew Tantum’s scent when it hit her nostrils. She pulled a warm blanket up around her chin and tried to roll over. Pain shot to her shoulder when she hit it against the soft mattress, and suddenly, she was reminded of it all. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up. The white sheets and the down comforter fell to her waist. Her head was groggy and her mouth pasty and dry, and it took a few minutes for her vision to adjust so she could have a look at her surroundings.

The walls were a soft cerulean. Two large windows stretched out in front of her, offering a panoramic view of the beautiful blue sky. It was daytime, and the sun was boasting its brightness. Breathtaking canvas paintings were scattered in perfect sequence around the room. There were scenes of the seasons, of the ocean, and of the sunset, all painted in pastel, supple colors, like vacation postcards that would have “Wish you were here” written on the back. There was an armoire in the corner, a dresser, and tall oval mirror all barren white. The ambiance of the room whispered “
Untouchable
,” and she sensed she was intruding on its serenity.

She pulled the blanket back from her legs. They were bare. An oversized white t-shirt was the only thing clothing her body.
Wait
! She lifted the shirt and sighed, relieved when she saw underwear on her nether-regions.

Her russet duffel bag sat on a powder-blue chair across the room, and its dark, gloomy color seemed to tarnish the otherwise inviting chair. Using her one good arm, she inched to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over it. Her feet were greeted by a soft, plush white carpet. Her shoulder started to throb, but the pain had subsided and it was no longer intolerable, as it had been after the crash. She crossed her crippled arm over her stomach and supported it with her good hand. Slightly off balance, she walked over to her bag and fought a one-armed battle with the zipper to get it open. She found her jeans and completed the task of getting them on, though fastening the button proved impossible.

She wandered through the house, admiring the lavish paintings, extravagant woodwork, and expensive, exquisite furniture that emerged from every corner of every room. She wondered,
Is this Tantum's home? What's he getting paid? Man, I need to grow a pair and ask for that raise.
Then she recalled what he'd said back at her apartment, that he was taking her to his family's home.

His scent became stronger, and her heart quickened. She dismissed it as fear of the unknown. It was definitely not anticipation of his presence.
Or was it?
The way he had held her in his arms and hushed her with his words back at the van. Was that memory a hallucination? He had so soothed her asleep in the safety of his strong embrace. She still hoped it was only a dream. She hoped this, too, was just another dream, waking in Tantum's home. Any minute now, she might wake up in her own bed.

She followed his sandalwood aroma into a bedroom. The walls were burnt red, and the molding, bedposts, and dresser a shiny black lacquer, making them look showroom-new. In the middle of the room, on the wall across from the huge bed, hung another large canvas. Out-of-control swirls in varied shades of blue collided and clashed against fine slivers of black.

Running water and a tapping noise snapped her from the hypnotizing picture. She inhaled, and with measured steps trailed after his alluring smell, following the tapping sound. She stepped through the doorframe and was met by Tantum's raised brow, reflected in a mirror.

He tapped his razor against the sink, shook it off, and lifted his chin. “Hey,” he said, and slowly stroked the razor down his neck.

She commanded her eyes to behave. Instead they trailed down his body, which was covered only by a fluffy white towel hanging low on his hips. The red marring the perfection of his back caught her attention. The skin on his left side had been shredded when he was dragged across the asphalt. Guilt did a slow slide to her stomach.

She glanced again at the mirror. Those freaking blue eyes, like a hidden, untouched body of water, swam into her. In them, she saw herself naked.

“How's your shoulder?” He wiped the leftover shaving cream from his face.

“Better.” She stared at a little wisp of wet hair close to his right temple, distracting herself from his eyes, and from his practically naked body.

“Good.” He reached his hand across her to open a linen closet, and she quickly stepped back. “Here it is,” he said as he pulled out a sling and untangled the straps. “There,” he said, his voice low and raspy as he placed a strap around her. He gently maneuvered her arm into the holster, secured the straps and fastened them. “How's that feel? Comfortable?”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, thanks.”

“Come back here.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I need to fix something.”

She glanced down at the apparatus. Nothing appeared out of place.

Like a lion pursuing its prey, he advanced on her. Rough fingers brushed her belly, and her muscles contracted. He smiled, a strange sort of warmth spreading over his face. Strange, because it was without malicious teasing. “Just as I thought,” he said as he yanked up her shirt.

Before she could pull away, he had finished fastening the button on her jeans and pulled up the rest of her zipper. The long shirt dropped around her hips. It had to be his. With that thought, another popped into her head.
Oh God, did he see me naked?
“Did you put this on me?”

His arm came up, and his biceps bunched as if struggling to stay contained within his skin. He pushed his fingers through his dark hair and let out a low, exasperated breath. “I don’t think we need to discuss that.”

“Oh, but we do!”

Disregarding her outburst, he went into the bedroom.

She followed, needing a better answer. He stopped in front of the dresser so abruptly she nearly bumped into him. “Answer me!” she ordered sternly.

“I didn't look, if that’s what you’re insinua—”

“You expect me to believe that? Really?”

“Yessss.” He drew the word out. “And I’ll tell you why. I didn’t want to spoil it.”

“Spoil what?” she snapped, getting angrier by the moment.

Mischievous little flecks sparkled in his eyes. “When we have sex, Nala—and we will—I want your body to be a surprise.”

Her fist, the good one, clenched tightly. “You think I’ll have sex with you? The arrogance!”

A small chuckle escaped his throat. Shrugging in a manner more conceited than any contradiction could be, he turned back to the dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pair of athletic pants. His hand went to the towel around his lean waist.

A small trail of dark hair led downward. A thrill ran down her spine. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded sharply.

Barely holding on to the towel, he said, “I'm going to put some pants on.” He grinned.

“If you want to be surprised, too, I suggest you look away.”

“We’re not going to have—”

His fingers plucked at the towel. “All right, then. Look your fill.”

Nala turned away, but not because she wanted to be surprised. Oh, he thought he was clever this time. Either way, he won.

“The coast is clear,” he said, stalking by her toward the bathroom. She winced at the sight of his fiery red back, where some areas were already starting to scab over.

That’s strange, Nala thought,
for his wounds to be scabbing already. Unless
…. She marched into the bathroom. “How long was I sleeping?”

Standing in front of the linen closet, pulling out bandages, antibiotic ointment, and medical tape, he paused and tilted his head in thought. “Hmm. Let's see. When we got here, I gave you a sedative, waited about an hour, and reset your shoulder.”

“You reset my shoulder?”

“It was dislocated. I couldn’t risk taking you to the hospital.”