Street Game (GhostWalkers, #8)(5)

“Maybe you don’t want us to look at them for a reason,” Paul said.

Jaimie shrugged, her gaze cool as she looked the man up and down. “Maybe.”

“I’ll take them to the first floor,” Kane said. “And contact the sergeant major to see where our information went haywire.”

Jaimie switched off her elaborate security alarm to speed things up. Mack waited until they were alone. He followed her into the kitchen area and watched as she reached for the teakettle. Tea. Of course. She always made tea when she was upset.

“Are you all right?” he asked gently.

“You took ten years off my life,” she admitted.

He leaned one hip against the cupboards, drinking in the sight of her. “What are you doing here? What is with all the equipment?”

“Just something I’m working on.”

She refused to look at him. Her shoulders were stiff. Her body posture screamed at him to go. “I’ve missed you, Jaimie.” Stubborn, he wasn’t about to back off from a confrontation. She’d taken his heart and soul when she’d left. He’d been a zombie, a machine without a direction. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. He knew there was accusation in his voice, in his expression, but damn it all, she deserved it. “You disappeared without a trace.”

“You had a choice, Mack,” she reminded. “You made it very clear to me where your priorities were. They weren’t with me. With us. It’s called self-preservation.”

“That’s bullshit. You knew I had no idea you’d just disappear.”

“As I recall, you said in no uncertain terms you weren’t ready for any kind of commitment. I took you at your word. What did you think I’d do?”

Weep for him. Wait for him. Crawl back and beg his forgiveness. Not f*cking disappear. Never that. She’d taken his life. She’d taken everything he was from him. “I expected you to realize I was busy.”

She kept her back to him; her hands shook as she lifted the whistling teakettle. “Busy? You mean your drive to make the world right? Your need to save everyone? You walked out on us, Mack. If you want to pretend you didn’t, if that makes it all good for you, it’s all right with me. I survived. You survived. You have the life you want. I’m good too. I moved on, so I’m guessing we’re both good.”

“Is that what you’re guessing?” He waited until the kettle was safely back on the stove before gripping her arm and spinning her around to face him. “Guess again, Jaimie.”

She didn’t struggle as he’d expected her to. She simply went very still and looked down at the fingers circling her wrists like a steel vise. Her gaze flicked up to his face, lingered on his mouth for a heart-stopping moment before her eyes met his. He had the curious sensation of tumbling forward.

“Mack, let go of me.”

He nearly didn’t. He nearly jerked her against him and took possession of her mouth. That perfect mouth that could drive a man out of his mind, take him to paradise. He knew she’d melt into him. He knew she belonged to him—every last inch of her—but he wanted more than her body. He’d had something precious and didn’t know it until he’d lost it. He dropped his hand and was annoyed when she rubbed the mark of his fingers from her skin before turning back to her task.

He stared at her back for a long moment, trying to find a way to reach her. Anything. The rage and pain of his loss were too close to the surface, rendering his quick brain useless. This was his Jaimie, yet not.

“Jaimie,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

She kept her back to him. McKinley. She’d never called him McKinley, even when they’d been best friends. Cannon, McKinley, and Fielding. Where one had been, there was the other, but he had been Mack, always Mack.

“Was this really an accident? A coincidence?”

His fist tightened until his knuckles turned white. “Of course it was an accident. What else?”

She turned around then, her large eyes luminous, beautiful. Eyes a man could get lost in. “It’s a bit far-fetched, don’t you think? You just happen to get the wrong warehouse and find me in it.”

“It’s a small world.”

“Don’t give me clichés, Mack,” she cautioned. “You scared me to death. I thought you were a burglar.”

“And you were going to attack him with a frying pan? What the hell’s the matter with you?” He had to keep his hands in check when he wanted to step forward and hold her trembling body against the shelter of his. When he needed to touch the silk of her hair and smooth the frown lines from her face.

“I’m keeping a low profile. Shooting a burglar or beating the crap out of him is a good way to advertise my presence, isn’t it?”

He drew in his breath. “You’re working undercover.”

She leaned against the sink and looked at him with her killer eyes. He felt the impact like a wicked punch to his gut and then lower, the pain reminding him he was more than alive.

“I’m starting a new business that requires a good reputation, privacy, and respectability.”

“That’s a load of bullshit. I’m family. If I’m nothing else to you, at least I’m that.”

Her eyes flashed fire at him. Threw sparks. “You broke my heart, Mack. You threw me away for your adrenaline rush. Well, you’ve got the life you wanted. I learned my lesson, and believe me, it was a hard one. You wanted sex and I was handy. I’m attracted to you and was willing to give you just about everything. I didn’t see for a long, long time that that”—she jerked her chin toward the thick, rock-hard bulge in the front of his jeans—“was all that mattered between us, all that you were ever going to give me. It isn’t ever going to be enough for me. I’ve got a life now, Mack. I’m never going to feel like that again, the way you made me feel. I hated myself. I don’t want to see you again. I’m asking you to just stay away from me.”