Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(48)

Her face heated, thinking of those breathless moments perched on his body on the floor of the car. The immense heat of him. The powerful, wiry muscles and ridges of bone. It had almost seemed like he was going to kiss her.

God, she wished he had. Every time he touched her, the spot he had touched came alive. Blood rushing into a part of her that had been cramped, squeezed, starved. As sharply painful as it was excellent.

The younger blond guy up front, the one Miles had called Sean, glanced back. She caught his grin as he looked discreetly away.

He’d seen her mooning, and was amused. Her face went hot.

Not that she could be blamed for crushing out. She just had to keep her crush to herself and not bug him with it. And stop staring at his nipples, the way his muscular thighs filled out those ripped, muddy jeans. The fabric of the shirt he had given her rasped against her breasts.

She clenched her teeth. Closed her eyes, turned her attention to that inner space, where part of her still hid. In fact, she could hardly imagine having the nerve to get out from behind his shield ever again. She typed into the analogous mental computer monitor.

u dont fool me ur not asleep His lips twitched. not fair he replied, on the mind computer.

His eyes opened. She caught her breath when his smile became an amazing white, flashing grin, with grooves in his cheek carved deep.

“My friends found a place for us to crash,” he said aloud. “In the hills, not far from here. We’ll stop there and figure out what to do next. You can rest, stoke up with some decent food. We’ll keep you safe.”

The idea of someone offering her rest, food, protection, made her speechless. Then it made her eyes water and swim.

“Lara.” His grin faded. “About your dad.”

She flung her hand up to ward off whatever he might say. “I know,” she said. “They taunted me with it. The torture, and . . . and everything. You don’t have to tell me about it.”

“Okay,” he said. “Fucking scumbags.”

He reached out and pulled her onto his lap again.

She melted down instantly. Hid her face against his chest, dabbing eyes and nose with the hem of the filthy sweatshirt he had given her. Shuddering with sobs.

Time passed. The car kept moving. She fell into an uneasy doze. His chest vibrated beneath her ear when he spoke to the men in front. His arms held her close. His chest was so hot and solid.

Her sleep was fitful, full of violent shifting images. The race through the forest, Hu, whimpering on the floor of the cell. Anabel, in her puddle of blood. Greaves holding electric paddles, his eyes gleeful.

Finally, the car slowed, bumping over a rough driveway, and drew to a stop. Miles slid her gently down on the seat next to him.

She rubbed her eyes. So much light, even with the cloud cover. The whiteness of the sky made her eyes sting. They were in a little valley, in a tangle of brown scrub oak trees, fallow orchards, and fields of brownish grass. Wooded hills rose up on all sides. They were parked in the driveway of a large house made of dark, stained logs. There were big picture windows on the first and second floors.

“We’re here,” Miles said gently. “Let’s go in.”

She stepped out into a brisk, snapping wind. So many wonderful fall smells. Herbs and loam and rain. Birds wheeled and squawked. She looked around for the other vehicle. “Where are the other two guys?”

“Aaro and Davy stopped back in town to pick up food and clothes. Let’s get you out of this wind.” He shrugged his jacket off and put it on her.

She followed him into the house. It was furnished with standard high-end vacation home stuff. Nice and bland and neutral. A big fireplace, hardwood floors, a thick rug in front of a quadrant of big, soft, beige couches. Picture windows opening onto deep patios. A large open-design kitchen and dining area off to the side.

“Sorry we don’t have any food yet,” he said. “Soon, though.”

“I don’t think I could eat yet, anyhow,” she said. “Could I have some water?”

“God, yes.” He took her hand, and led her into the kitchen as if she were a tiny child who wouldn’t find her way unguided, and ran her a glass from the tap. He got one for himself. They refilled twice.

They looked at each other. Her eyes skittered to his collarbone, his chest. That interesting hollow over his solar plexus, the graceful pattern of his chest hair, the jut of his ribcage. The lean, defined musculature over it. Gawking. She just couldn’t stop.

“You’ll, ah, want to take a shower, lie down,” he said. “Let’s find you a room upstairs.“

“Give her the master bedroom.” It was Sean, coming in the front door. “The one with the bathroom is for the lady.”

“We should get her a doctor.” The one called Connor followed his brother in, scowling. He had a faint limp. His eyes were heavily ringed with exhaustion, and there was still blood on his face from the nosebleed.

“For you, too,” she said. “All of you.”

An impatient shrug met that suggestion. “There should be towels and sheets up there,” Connor said. “Tam said it was all covered.”

He heaved a bag up onto the kitchen counter, opened it. It proved to have several handguns packed into molded foam. Lara stared as he casually pulled out a magazine, smoothly fitted it into his pistol grip before holstering the weapon in the waistband of his jeans.