Baddest Bad Boys(45)

She’d always thought Hugh handsome, but Mac had morphed to absolute male-gorgeous. Still grim, still sober as a church pew, but gorgeous all the same.

And when they’d touched…

Heat rose, as it had in that moment, warming her throat and face, then scorching down to settle roughly between her thighs, pulsing, promising, wanting.

Agitated, she stood, walked to the window, and stared out into the bleakness of the storm. A rivulet of rain wended its way across the glass, and she traced it with her index finger, followed its shaky path down to the wooden sill. She placed her chilled fingertip on her lower lip, tasted the cold.

Tommi was a sensualist, knew it, and gloried in it. She was tactile, moved by the slither of satin over her skin, cool water pooling in her palm, the sun caressing her shoulders—the hard, strong length of a man buried deep inside her, his breath hot in her ear.

She leaned her forehead against the cold windowpane.

Mac’s skin was so clear and tan, his jaw a slash of strong bone and determination, and his mouth was…

She stared unseeing into the blackness outside the window, her mind drifting, circling to finish her thought.

…his mouth was an unopened gift—and it kissed her without a touch.

I need to stop thinking about him. Now!

A clap of thunder brought her to her senses, and she squinted through the window, certain she’d seen a flash of light in the trees beyond the clearing. She stared for a good five minutes. Nothing.

Great! First I fantasize about Mac, now I’m seeing things.

Exhaustion. That was her problem. Her eyes were playing games with her sleep-deprived mind, making her paranoid.

Assuring herself Reid had no idea she was here, she hugged herself and stepped away from the window.

The Mac thoughts? The lust at first sight? Nothing but a few misfiring synapses—and a not-so-subtle nudge from her under-utilized hormones. She wasn’t here to sleep with Hugh’s brother. She was here to get away from Reid McNeil and think through what—and how—to tell Paul about what was happening in his company.

But not tonight—she stifled a yawn, headed for the bathroom. Bone-weariness made thinking a waste of time. No doubt she’d conjure another dumb paranoia, as she had on the ferry; she’d been so sure that big man was watching her, until he’d turned the other way when they’d unloaded. No doubt to go home to his wife and six kids!

When she came back from the bathroom, she put one of her bags on the bed, opened it, and pulled out her short blue chenille robe. She draped it across the foot of the bed, stripped, and crawled quickly under the covers. She wondered if this was Mac’s bed, then yawned again. If so, she was eternally grateful—even if they’d never be in it together. She snuggled into one pillow, pulled the other close to her naked breasts.

The sheets were flannel, the duvet goose down, the bed a lemon-scented cloud; she was asleep within seconds.

Her dreams were uneven, disturbing, snaking between her running from Reid and running to Mac. And there was a knife, slashing curtains, gouging wood…blood. Blood everywhere. A light in the forest. Flickering.

She rolled and tossed, trapped between sleep and wakefulness. Panicking. She shook her head back and forth. Oh, no! Reid had the files now, and she was hanging by her fingers at the edge of a bottomless pit. Reid lifted his foot to stomp on her hands…

I’m falling, can’t stop falling. I’m going to die.

Abruptly she sat up, disoriented, her heart a frightened bird, her chest a cage.

She saw a shadow move—at the foot of the bed.

Rising, it came toward her.

3
Tommi covered her mouth to hold in the scream.

“Easy.” A hand offered her a glass of water. “Drink.”

“Mac?” Finally her eyes adjusted to the stingy light leaking in through the open bedroom door. “Is that you?” she asked stupidly, needing to be certain, to hear his voice again.

“Yes. It’s me.” He shoved the glass into her hand. “You okay?”

She saw his eyes, dark and intense, in the shadowed room. “Fine…I’m fine. But why are you here?”

His gaze slid down to chest level. “You want questions answered, might be a good idea to cover up.”

Tommi yanked the duvet over her bare breasts, a furnace of heat in her neck. “Sorry. I sleep in the nude.”

“So I see.”

Tommi felt foolish, then angry that she’d apologized. “What are you doing in here, anyway?”

“I was heading to my room.” He gestured with his head to the hall. “You called my name.”

“I did?”

Mac sat on the edge of the bed, put a hand on the other side of her legs, and leaned in until his face was close enough for her to see his eyes. “What’s going on, Smith? Tell me and I might be able to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

He stroked her upper arm. “These say you do.” He touched her other arm, raised a brow.

She looked where his hand touched. She had bruised, not badly, but considering the dark marks formed a matched set, it was difficult to come up with a plausible explanation.

“Someone did this. Tell me who.” His voice was firm, his tone low. “I’m not leaving this bed until you do.”

She let out a breath, suddenly and irrationally desperate to tell someone. “I was seeing this man—”