Assumed Identity(24)
He leaned in another fraction of an inch and smoothed a wet lock of hair away from her eyes. His blunt fingers traced the wavy tendril against her scalp. His lips parted and his coffee-scented breath tickled her cheek. She was vaguely aware of his chest expanding and contracting at a more rapid pace.
That was what he wanted? A kiss? Closeness? To act on this charged energy arcing between them? Maybe a guy with that face and those scars didn’t get much play with women, and he simply wanted sex. Certainly, his brusque personality wouldn’t charm much feminine softness into his life. And yet, she was considering giving him exactly what those crystal blue eyes were asking for. The man was a virtual stranger. She was a smart, responsible woman. Should she be this eager to reward him with a kiss? With something more?
Robin’s hand somehow wound up on the masculine swell of his chest. She was bracing herself, curling her fingers into the wet cloth and solid muscle, holding on for what was sure to be a kiss unlike any other she’d experienced. Lonergan tunneled his fingers into her hair, tugging the wet strands and clasping the nape of her neck just a little too roughly.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, sensing his hesitation as much as his desire. “I’m okay with this.”
Her eyes drifted shut and she stretched up to meet him. But just as she thought he’d touch his lips to hers, he muttered an oath. “I can’t do this.” He released her entirely and backed away. “You won’t see me again, Robin.”
Her eyes opened to see him striding away. He swiped a hand over his face and never looked back.
The emotional roller coaster of this long, sleepless night shook through her and left her knees wobbly enough that she had to cling to the bricks for support. “Yes, you will,” she called after him, finding her voice and gaining strength. “I’m a determined woman. I repay my debts, Mr.... What the hell is your first name, anyway?”
But he disappeared around the fence, and the night and the rain swallowed him up.
Robin stared into the darkness, willing the sexy, frustrating, mysterious apparition to reappear. Willing her fascination with the man to stop pounding through her blood. After a minute of standing in the rain, feeling as empty and alone as she’d been before bringing Emma into her life, Robin had no choice but to go inside, bolt the doors behind her and trudge upstairs to claim whatever sleep she could.
Chapter Five
Seriously?
Ghost Rescuer Saves RRR’s Latest Victim
Jake set down his mug of coffee and spread the newspaper open across the top of his kitchen table.
“Ghost Rescuer,” he muttered, zeroing in on reporter Gabriel Knight’s latest article in the Kansas City Journal. “According to one eyewitness, the unknown hero appeared ‘like a ghost from the shadows.’” Jake crumpled the edge of the paper in his fist. “What eyewitness?”
The only people who’d been there last night had been an infant who couldn’t talk and the blitz attacker who certainly wouldn’t want Kansas City’s top crime reporter covering his activities. That left the stubborn, dark-haired victim, Robin Carter, to blab about how he’d helped her. Some thanks.
“What are you doing to me, lady?” He didn’t need this kind of publicity. He didn’t need publicity, period. Getting featured in the newspaper worked against the whole idea of hiding out from the nightmares Jake suspected were all too real.
He swallowed the last of his tepid coffee and read the article from beginning to end. “Ah, hell.”
At least she hadn’t mentioned his name. But big, scarred face and man who likes his privacy were all apt descriptors that could lead anyone observant enough right to him.
He skimmed over Knight’s claims that the Ghost Rescuer had done what KCPD had been unable to do for over a year now—stop the Rose Red Rapist. The women of Kansas City could breathe a little easier knowing someone like him lurked in the shadows, watching over them, waiting to save the day. He was making Jake out to be some kind of folk hero. This reporter clearly had a beef with the police department, but Jake wasn’t about to sacrifice his anonymity to become a front-page news story in which Gabriel Knight could vent his anger and disappointment.
Jake glanced behind him at the closet where his go-bag, with all those IDs and his weapons cache, was stored. A man like...whoever he was...had a strong aversion to publicity, even good press.
Would whoever had cut his face, burned his skin and put a bullet in his head see this article and come back to finish the job? Would word of an anonymous hero lurking in the alleyways of Kansas City reach one of those Central American countries stamped on those fake passports? Or had he already taken out the people who’d done this to him? Was there enough detail in this article to get the attention of a law-enforcement agency that had him on their most-wanted list?