Street Game (GhostWalkers, #8)(20)

“And you want to find her?” Mack asked cautiously. The news was more disturbing than he could almost believe. Kane. A woman. A child. Kane saying a woman suffered on his account. He wanted more of an explanation, but with Kane, one waited until he volunteered the information.

“I have to find her. She’s carrying my child.” There was a pause. A heartbeat. “I can’t let her go, Mack.”

“Then we’ll find her, bro. We’ll find her.”





CHAPTER 4


Jaimie woke with a start, her heart pounding, her mouth dry. Another nightmare. Wouldn’t they ever go away and leave her in peace? She moved and immediately came into contact with Mack’s muscular thigh. He was asleep, his breathing even. From across the room, Kane snored gently. Very carefully, knowing what a light sleeper Mack was, Jaimie turned over, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look down into his face. She wanted to touch him, reassure herself he was really there, right beside her. Reality, not a dream. He looked younger in his sleep, ridiculously long lashes guarding his cold, black eyes. His thick, dark hair spilled over his forehead. There was a blue black shadow along his jaw.

It was frightening how it made her feel having Mack there with her. Confused. Elated. Scared. Safe. Mack had always made her feel safe, even though she was grown up now and he led them all into dangerous situations. Mack made them feel safe and somewhat immortal. He made them believe that if they were together, they could do anything.

Beside her, Mack stirred, murmured her name softly, his breath warm on her neck as he turned, fitting his body around hers, his hand sliding to her hip. The edge of her shirt had ridden up and Mack’s fingertips pressed into the bare skin at her waist. It felt as if four red-hot brands were touching her. The fire spread through her body like a storm she couldn’t control. Her breasts ached, there was an answering rush of liquid heat just as there always had been. As if two years hadn’t gone by. Just like that, it started all over again.

Jaimie tried to ease away from him, but there wasn’t much room, she was already on the edge of the bed, up against the wall. As she moved, Mack made a small protest in his throat, his body following hers possessively, one leg sliding over her thigh to trap her against him. His hand slid over the curve of her hip to move along her flat stomach, fingers splayed wide as if taking in as much of her bare skin as possible.

Jaimie rubbed her hot cheek into the coolness of the pillow. If she squirmed around, heaven only knew what Mack might do in his sleep. Suddenly, she was scowling darkly. Obviously, he must be used to sleeping with a woman. While she’d been alone for two years, he had found others to replace her. The thought infuriated her.

“Move over, you jerk!” Jaimie shoved at his shoulder, hissing the words in a low, furious voice.

His mocking laughter was soft in her ear, alerting her to the fact that he had been awake all along. Jaimie turned toward him in a little fit of temper, shoving at the heavy wall of his chest.

“Settle down, honey. I was only teasing you.” Both of his hands covered hers, clamped her palms to his heavily muscled chest. His thumbs moved over her knuckles, the small, intimate gesture disturbingly sensuous.

“This bed isn’t big enough for the two of us,” Jaimie said, alarmed at the breathless catch in her voice and the way her body just wanted to melt into his.

“This bed is ridiculous,” Mack agreed, “but it’s all we have.”

“It’s my bed, McKinley. It’s perfectly adequate without you in it.” Jaimie tugged at her hands to free them from his grasp.

Mack tightened his grip, black eyes glinting with humor. “Where do you expect me to sleep? Kane took the couch.”

“He fell off it, remember? Let go. You weren’t supposed to get under the covers.” She was whispering to keep from waking up Kane.

“I was cold. Honestly, Jaimie, don’t be so hard-hearted. You wouldn’t want me to catch pneumonia.”

A faint derisive snicker came from across the room.

“My sentiments exactly,” Jaimie concurred. She was wearing herself out with the ridiculous tug-of-war over who had possession of her hands. She knew Mack in this mood. He would go on for hours; worse, she was beginning to have trouble containing her own sense of humor.

“Stay out of this, Cannon,” Mack ordered. “I have enough trouble with Jaimie here. You know how out of sorts she gets when she hasn’t had enough sleep.” Deliberately, he tugged her body onto its side, his arms firmly around her again.

“I’m never out of sorts,” Jaimie protested.

Kane cleared his throat. “Actually, honey, that’s a bald-faced lie. If you don’t get eight hours of sleep, you’re vicious.”

“No one asked you,” Jaimie groused.

“You woke me up,” he grumbled. “What do you expect? Oh, all right, I’ll help you out. If she’s going to be so damned contrary, Mack, I’ll take the bed and you can have the couch,” Kane suggested slyly.

“It’s my bed,” Jaimie pointed out belligerently. “I didn’t offer to share with either of you.”

Mack nuzzled her silky hair, inhaled her fresh, clean scent. Like hell Kane was going to switch places. Kane knew it too. “I can’t believe your manners have disintegrated in such a short time.”

“We worked hard to teach you,” Kane added sorrowfully.