Street Game (GhostWalkers, #8)(16)

“He’s a builder, not an electronics expert,” Jaimie answered. Out of long habit, she rubbed at his frowning mouth with her fingertip. “He’s nice, Mack.”

The trouble was, the feel of him was so achingly familiar. Mack’s lips were velvet soft. He opened his mouth, his strong white teeth nipping her fingertip, sending unexpected liquid heat curling through her body. She snatched her hand away as if he had burned her, rubbing it on her thigh as if erasing his touch.

“It’s dangerous work, honey. Security guards don’t have all that much training. Or worse, if it’s a government enterprise, you might run across an itchy trigger finger somewhere.”

“Oh, please, Mack, let’s not start discussing dangerous jobs.” Jaimie swept her tousled hair from her forehead. The moment she released the silky strands, they settled right back in a soft, thick halo.

“You knew that was coming.” Kane laughed, his head back, uninhibited, the way he always laughed. But his eyes weren’t laughing, Jaimie noted. “And you deserved it.”

“Get your gear out of the middle of the hallway,” Mack said.

“He always resorts to dishing out orders when you get the best of him,” Kane reminded Jaimie.

“Speaking of dishes, clean your mess up,” Jaimie said primly.

“No one was speaking of dishes,” Kane denied. “I said dishing, dishing, you know, like . . .” He trailed off with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, all right, then, but this is under protest. You used to do our dishes.”

“I was twelve and you blackmailed me,” Jaimie said, scowling darkly at him. “If I didn’t, you weren’t going to let me go to any of the football games.” She tilted her chin. “Now I call the shots.”

“Says who?” Mack flipped her over so she landed on her stomach. Instantly his leg was across her thighs, his upper body pinning her down. He leaned wickedly close, his warm breath on the nape of her neck. “I just let you think you call the shots, honey. I draw the line at this Spagnola character.”

“Mack, let me up.” Jaimie tried not to laugh. She wasn’t going to encourage him. He felt so familiar, so right, but she knew better, and playing around with him was like playing with fire. Sooner or later she was going to get burned. On the other hand, he was waiting for her to fight with him over sharing the bed and she wasn’t going to do it. He would never touch her with Kane in the room. He might want to, but he was exhausted and Kane was a good chaperone. She was safe, and she could act like it meant nothing to her. Let him think it didn’t matter to her at all.

“Will you two stop horsing around?” Kane yawned. “It’s three o’clock in the morning. Let’s turn in.”

“The great TV watcher.” Mack reluctantly shifted his weight from Jaimie. He took great care to retain his hard-won portion of the bed. “Pack it in, honey, hotshot has spoken.”

“I’m not sharing my sheets,” Jaimie announced with a fierce, meant-to-be-intimidating scowl. “You can sleep on top of the covers.”

“I bought them,” Mack pointed out, tracing the hand-embroidered dragon nearest him. “That should give me a few rights.”

“I’ll share my other pillow,” Jaimie conceded, “but only because you sent me all those dragons.” She loved the collection of dragons, mostly given to her by Kane and Mack over the years. She might forgive him a little just for that.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Kane protested. “You know that jeweled one from Egypt? I bought that one.”

“Like hell you did. You were making goo-goo eyes at some belly dancer, as I recall,” Mack lied, settling more comfortably onto the mattress, his thigh touching Jaimie’s.

It had been so long and she felt like heaven, all soft skin and heat. She smelled a little like heaven too. It was only the fact that he was so exhausted that he dared take a chance sharing her bed again. Jumping her was not the way to win her back, but keeping the old familiar footing would go a long way toward smoothing his path.

Kane retrieved the rest of their luggage and dumped it unceremoniously in the corner of Jaimie’s bedroom. “The man said you looked like an assassin; he wouldn’t take your traveler’s check. I paid, remember. Is the couch comfortable?”

“Aren’t you two supposed to be used to roughing it?” Jaimie demanded, exasperated with both of them. “And Kane never makes goo-goo eyes at women. That’s you.”

“I paid you back, Kane,” Mack insisted, ignoring Jaimie.

“When did you pay me back?” Kane asked suspiciously, as he headed for the bathroom.

“You’re in a lady’s house,” Mack called out. “Don’t forget the toilet seat. And it was in Milan.”

“I can’t believe you said that.” Jaimie was horrified. “I’d forgotten what it was like sharing a house with men.” She buried her face in the coolness of the pillow.

“He isn’t very well trained,” Mack explained loud enough for Kane to hear.

“Turn on the alarm, Kane,” Jaimie reminded as the man emerged wearing a long-suffering expression and navy blue sweats. She smiled to herself. Sweats seemed to be quite the rage in nightwear when she’d bet her bottom dollar they never slept in clothes if they could help it.

Kane activated the alarm, rolled out his sleeping bag on the couch, and turned off the light. “It wasn’t Milan.”