One Night At A Time Page 9

  She blamed the danger that dogged their every step, the same danger Doug seemed to thrive on.

  Until recently, she’d never been reckless.

  And she only seemed to be compounding this streak that she hadn’t known she possessed.

  She sought comfort from him, and heaven help her, she also asked for a taste, just a taste, of excitement. He gave everything she wanted, responding to her kiss, parrying his tongue with hers.

  Pulling him closer, she allowed the kiss to deepen, spinning her thoughts crazily out of control.

  Whatever was wrong with her, she didn’t want to resist it. Instead, she wanted to savor and enjoy, heady in the knowledge that she was capable of providing him with the pleasure he’d given her.

  The plane bounced, jolting her to her senses.

  Reality rushed back, and she ended the kiss.

  She released her hold, unfurling her fingers and feeling lingering tingle.

  Doug drew away.

  Warmth had surged into her lips, sensitizing them. She missed having him against her, missed the solidness of his body, missed the musky scent he wore.

  What had she been thinking? Worse, what had she been doing?

  Her boldness shocked her, making her aware of a part of her nature that she hadn’t imagined existed. It was as if, with a few carefully chosen words, Doug had peeled back the protective coating within which her heart lay encased. The knowledge excited her, and simultaneously filled her with fear.

  Was she learning how to live, only to have her life ended?

  A cold chill crept over her, and she reached for the blanket, dragging it around her shoulders. Strange how the only time she felt warm was when Doug’s arms wrapped her in security. Desperate for something to do, she grasped her cup and lifted the lukewarm remnants to her lips. Cool dashed against heat—exactly the way she felt inside.

  Doug’s hand curled around hers before she set the coffee down.

  He looked at her with enigmatic eyes, a hint of teasing blending with the remnants of passion.

  She started to speak, only the words wouldn’t emerge. What could possibly be said to a man who unlocked secrets she didn’t know she kept? “Thanks?” “Go away?” “Please don’t leave?”

  Confusion panicked her. Her life, the physical, as well the emotional, twisted into tortured turmoil. And she know how, or if, it would end.

  “You can shut me up anytime,” Doug said.

  She looked at him, and her mouth dried up. His words were light, but their meaning rang with reality.

  The thing that terrified her the most was that part of her actually wanted to take him up on the invitation.

  Chapter 7

  “Hi, honey, I’m home,” Doug said, groping for the light switch. When several hundred watts flooded the living room, he held open the door for Arielle.

  “Is there someone already here?” she asked.

  “Just us. But everyone says that when they walk through the front door, don’t they?”

  Shaking her head, she moved past him, her elbow brushing his arm. Her touch was light and innocent, probably accidental, but that didn’t make his purely male response any less potent. It wouldn’t take much to reignite the spark that had been flickering ever since she entered his office.

  Kissing her had been wonderful. Kissing her had been ad mistake. Having her kiss him had nearly been a fatal error One he shouldn’t repeat.

  She was an assignment, he was her protector.

  Even if it took a hammer blow to his skull, he needed to remember that. And if he didn’t, the inevitable nightmares would remind him.

  “Rhone and Shannen have a lovely home,” Arielle commented.

  He checked to make sure the door latched securely, then turned the dead bolt and slid home the security chain. For good measure, he turned the regular lock, too. After that, he set the alarm.

  She stood with her back to the cold hearth, arms wrapped across her middle, as if to ward off the Colorado chill. He’d have bet dollars to dinghies it didn’t feel like this in the Bahamas.

  “The house is ours for as long we need it,” he said. “Has all the comforts, coffeepot, running water, forced air, fireplace.”

  “Big-screen TV?” she teased.

  “Yep. With a VCR. Television reception isn’t great, so there’s a library of movies. All the necessities,” he added. “Including a cribbage board.”

  She gave him the ghost of a smile, and it was then that he noticed the toll events had taken on her. Her complexion was stark, escaped hair drooped down her forehead, and his clothes hung from her, too big and bulky, making her seem smaller than she really was. Her eyes were wide and tired. Her purse hung from her shoulder, and all her worldly possessions were wrapped in leather, and not a single complaint.

  That familiar clawing of failure crept up on him again. He meant to keep her safe as a babe in arms, but so far he’d done a miserable job of it.

  Moving toward the fireplace—and her—he said, “Shannen’s about your size. You can borrow some of her clothes until I take you shopping.”

  For the first time that day, interest sparked in her eyes, bringing her a trace of animation and making him wonder what she was truly like. Did she laugh often? Did she tease? And when she made love, did she close her eyes? Or did she leave them open, allowing her expression to be read?

  “Shopping?” she asked.

  Doug groaned—the age-old sound of masculine suffering. Unfortunately, there weren’t any other males around to provide sympathy. The woman needed to shop, and he was the designated driver.

  At least he could hope she approached shopping with the same single-minded determination she did everything else. They’d be in and out of the stores in a snap.

  “I heard that,” she said, placing her purse on the coffee table.

  “What?”

  “That heavy sigh. Actually, it sounded more like a groan.”

  “I enjoy shopping, even for groceries, which we’re in desperate need of,” he said defensively. “At least I enjoy it as much as the next man.”

  “But you’d rather have a root canal.”

  “Without anesthesia.”

  Her smile died—rather tiredly, he imagined—before it fully formed.

  Their ride from the small airport had taken more than an hour, over lumpy roads and around hairpin curves. She’d grabbed hold of the dashboard for stability several times but, stoically, hadn’t uttered a single cross word.

  Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said about him. More than once, he’d cursed with a flair of jungle color. When he glanced at her apologetically, she’d reminded him that she was a teacher versed in playground duty.

  There were many facets to the woman he’d agreed to guard. He had no business wanting to expose each and every aspect of her to the light of day.

  Experience had taught him that mixing business and pleasure made combustible matter. When it exploded in his face, the shrapnel had zeroed in, like a radar-guided missile, to pierce his heart.

  Doug didn’t like bandages, so he’d decided to avoid being hurt. Simple as that.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” he said. “I’ll light a fire and get you something to drink.”

  She didn’t wait for a second invitation.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He hazarded a glance over his shoulder to see that she’d kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs beneath her. Slowly she closed her eyes.

  Doug dragged his gaze away, but had less success in tearing his thoughts away from temptation. The woman, and her strength, were sexy as sin.

  And he was a sinner.

  There were cures for that, his grandmother had always told him. Doug, though, hadn’t been much interested in being cured.

  Moving from room to room, he made certain nothing looked out of place. He checked all the locks and window seals. The two-story log home was as tight as Fort Knox, but when it came to safety, that wasn’t good enough.

  No place
was impenetrable.

  He’d pulled off Rhone’s rescue in Colombia because others made that very same, faulty assumption. A single slip, that’s all it took. It could work for you. Just as easily, it could destroy you.

  Doug went upstairs, opening every door, even the one to the linen closet. He inventoried the location of each piece of furniture, the placement of knickknacks, the angles of pictures. And he reached a conclusion he knew Arielle wouldn’t like: They would be sharing the master bedroom.

  None of the rooms connected with one another, and he refused to let her out of his sight. In the master bedroom, she wouldn’t be more than a half-dozen steps away, even if she needed to use the rest room.

  He’d tell her later, when the time was right. As he closed the door, he admitted the truth to himself. He’d tell her when she was too damn tired to object and couldn’t form a coherent argument. He’d tuck her in, climb beneath the covers on the other side of the bed, then sleep like a baby. By tomorrow, their sleeping arrangements wouldn’t be a concern.

  Just to be sure, he repeated the assertion to himself.

  Downstairs, he punched in the code to disarm the entrance to Rhone’s office. Doug pushed open the door, allowing it to click behind him.

  A personal computer sat on a desk, protected by a plastic dustcover. A shortwave radio dominated one corner, and two phones, each on a different line, one secure, one not, sat within arm’s reach on the desk. The fax machine had already spit out a piece of paper, and he reached for it. From Rhone. No surprise there.

  Shannen had been forced to tell Arielle’s parents a part of the story. Rhone recommended that Doug have Arielle call her parents at Rhone’s Washington, D.C., home. Much as Doug hated to take any chances, he realized his ex-partner had a good point. Fear obliterated reason. Faxing back a response, he disarmed the control panel, left the office and secured it behind him.

  Arielle was still dozing on the couch, looking innocent and trustful in sleep. Had he ever been trustful? Even as a child? He doubted it. His home had been built on a lot of things. Love, respect and trust weren’t among them.

  Crouching in front of the fireplace, he reached for several newspapers, saving the comic strips for later. He wanted the last laugh for himself. He wadded the business section. Then he saw the travel insert, featuring a cruise to the equator. With great enthusiasm, he twisted the pages into a spiral. Then he torched the four-color photo of a South Seas sunrise.

  After making sure the flames were licking at the pine logs, he crossed into the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. As the carafe filled, he looked around. It had been a while since he was here. Rhone made the house available to his friends. Doug had used it a couple of times, once for an impromptu vacation.

  His first trip had been made to help Rhone and Shannen find their child. That had ended well. The second time, his enforced vacation had been taunted by visions and flashbacks, and he’d left Colorado only marginally better than he found it.

  When he carried the cups, spoons and sugar into the living room, Arielle blinked.

  “You don’t have to wake up.”

  She yawned, stretching as he juggled with putting the cups on the table.

  “I shouldn’t let you do all the work,” she said, pushing herself upright.

  “You make an excellent point.”

  “But I guess I’ll let you wait on me. If you’re ever looking for a new job, we could use you in the teachers’ lounge.”

  “They drink a lot of coffee, huh?”

  “The entire staff combined doesn’t drink as much as you.”

  “Caffeine’s one of the basic food groups,” he protested.

  “Along with chocolate,” she agreed, her voice rubbed raw by the lack of sleep and abundance of stress.

  She stirred sugar into her coffee, the spoon still turning endless circles long after the crystals had dissolved. Doug took a seat in an armchair across from her, watching and waiting.

  Silence slipped over the night, leaving behind a wake of uncertainty. The scent of pine filled the air. The wood bubbled and crackled, and he knew damn well he was postponing the inevitable.

  “Rhone and I have arranged for you to call your parents tomorrow.”

  Her spoon abruptly stopped. She smiled as if he’d given her the world, and for that moment, he felt as though he had.

  “But how, when?”

  “Rhone has a secure line here, and another at his home in D.C. Shannen will take your parents there.”

  Slowly, like the sinking of the sun into an endless sea, her expression changed, the smile fading. “That’s a long way.”

  “Not when Rhone’s the pilot.”

  “He’ll fly them to D.C.?”

  “I think he’s anxious to play with his new toy. You know what they say about men and boys.”

  She didn’t even attempt a smile. Instead, she held on to the cup as if it represented a lifeline to sanity. “They have to be scared witless.”

  “But you’ll have the chance to change all that.”

  Peeling her fingers, one by one, from the porcelain, she slid the untouched coffee onto the table and drew her legs onto the couch. With effortless movements, she rested her chin on her knees.

  It seemed she never experienced sorrow for herself. Instead, she saved it for others.

  “I keep hoping I’ll wake up and this will have all been a bad dream,” she whispered.

  Arielle wasn’t looking at him. He suspected she wasn’t talking to him, either.

  “Do you ever wish that?” she asked him.

  “Yeah, Arielle.” He took a long sip from his coffee. “I do.”

  “You needed that trip to the Bahamas.”

  “wan,” he lied. “It’ll be there next week.” Unless a hurricane wiped it out. That’d be his luck.

  “I should have understood.”

  She looked at him then, and the depth of emotion in her eyes walloped him in the gut.

  “I should have waited for Brian, like you said.”

  Unable to sit there, seeing her pain, Doug shoved his cup onto the table, not caring that coffee sloshed over the rim. Standing, he crossed to her.

  “I’m a big boy, Arielle,” he said, capturing her shoulders in his hands. Instantly he gentled his touch. “I make my own choices.” He feathered wayward bangs away from her forehead, and she tipped back her head to meet his gaze. “I’m here with you because I want to be. Don’t mistake that.”

  “But—”

  “Arielle, you’re talking too much.”

  She closed her mouth.

  Doug wasn’t certain he could take tasting her again. She incited a primal need he’d thought conquered. And the force of his own weakness stunned him.

  Before he could change his mind, Doug released her. Pivoting, he crossed to the fireplace, too restless to sit. Inside, hunger churned, a hunger he didn’t dare assuage.

  She might not like the idea of sleeping with him tonight, but the idea of having her so near terrified him. He’d never felt such a consuming need before. And, without a doubt, Arielle Hale was the worst person for him to be attracted to.

  Tension, in time with the staccato of his fingers drumming on the mantel, settled over the room.

  “We’ll get through this, won’t we?”

  “I promise,” he said. And this time he meant it. Now it was personal. He had something to prove.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Shoot.” He winced at the image. He’d been the target of one too many shots already today.

  She looked at him through her long lashes. “Who’s the man that wants you dead?”

  Her directness socked him in the solar plexus. He’d known her questions were coming, and he knew he owed her answers. But to be faced with them so bluntly threw him off balance...the way he’d been since lunchtime yesterday.

  He ceased the drumming and returned her directness. “Samuel Pickins,” he said, the name burning on its way out, just like the ulcer
he was sure he was developing. “He was in my unit in the Marines.”

  “Were you friends?”

  “Yeah. Found out I didn’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “You do now.”

  Thanks to Rhone and Brian, he did.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  He wanted to leave the past buried beneath the memories that suffocated it. But she’d been in the line of fire today... because of him. Made them about even, an eye for an eye, a bullet for a bullet.

  But he’d asked her to bare her soul last night, demanded honesty of her. He could give no less himself. “As you’ve already learned, he’s an expert in munitions. Had a lot of talent, could blow up damn near anything. One night he was playing with explosives, experimenting...” The deafening roar slammed through the space of two decades and pierced his eardrums. The sights, the tortured screams.

  He became aware of Arielle softly saying his name, her voice sliding hypnotically through his senses with the support he needed to drag himself back through layers of the years.

  Doug blinked. Sometimes he managed to forget the details of the horror that still lingered. Since then, he’d survived untold hell. And he’d survived because nothing, nothing, had ever been worse than watching the deaths of men he was responsible for.

  “Two men, two good men, died,” he said hollowly.

  Unerringly she found the heart of the matter. “And you didn’t cover for him?”

  “I testified against him.” Doug swallowed. “Said it wasn’t an accident.” He’d had no choice. His code of justice had demanded he do the right thing, no matter the pressure he received not to sell out a buddy.

  And one thing was certain—he’d do it all over again. The quest for justice still drove him. In a matter of moments, he’d lost some of his men. He still paid the bill some nights, with sleeplessness and nightmares.

  Arielle had moved without him being aware of it. Reality returned with the feel of her hand closing around his wrist.

  The unselfish touch of human warmth surged through him, bringing a flame flickering to life where he’d believed not even ashes still smoldered. Her own ache came from deep inside, and she carried the scars in her eyes. And yet she reached out to offer comfort and support.