Fugitive Heart - By Bonnie Dee Page 0,28

mud monster when I visit Jake.”

“If I was Esposito’s guy, that diner is the first place I’d go hunt down information.”

She nodded. “So I’ll use the back door.”

He squeezed her body to his and remembered how her lips had tasted last night, and the uninhibited way she’d thrown herself against him.

She slowly asked, “Were you ever Esposito’s guy?”

“No. I work in a museum, like I said. Research, creating brochures, building exhibits and repairing them, fund-raising. That’s my world.” Once again a pang of regret shot through him. His job had seemed boring occasionally, but for days now, he’d craved boredom.

“Oh.”

She still doubted him? He made a frustrated noise deep in his throat.

Ames must have understood his inarticulate growl. She pulled back to study his face. “No, I believe you. You just seem so familiar with that whole…what goes on. How these guys think.”

“I grew up around those people, and yeah, they were the ones I partied with as a teen.” Before the mess with his father. “But I never lived like that.” That wasn’t entirely true, and he sagged a little, remembering.

“Okay, I can tell you’re upset. What’s wrong?” She seemed better able to read him than Lina, his girlfriend who’d lived with him for almost year while they were in graduate school.

He decided to tell her the worst about himself—why not? It wasn’t anything as horrible as she’d conjured on her own, like he’d kill Elliot. He touched a springy curl at her cheek. Just for luck. “The family likes to have something on people who know anything about their business dealings. You know, quid pro quo. So, um, you know…” His voice trailed off.

She bumped his shoulder. “I think you’re saying ‘you know’ a lot because you don’t actually want me to know. Go on. You were talking about business dealings.”

“Hey, how come you’re not a lawyer? I’m thinking you’d be a good prosecutor.”

She began to squirm against him again, as if trying to get even closer. “I didn’t go to college, and I like web design. Come on, Nick. Explain this quid pro quo.”

He wrapped the other arm around her and pulled her onto his lap. His body woke entirely, and for a second, the rest didn’t matter.

They exchanged a long, hungry kiss. He hauled her closer. She twisted, wiggled and then straddled him. He could feel the heat of her pressing against him. Yes, he did like skirts.

She nibbled his mouth, sank into another kiss and moved in his arms, restless and full of life. All of that soft energy so close, so ready for him. Maybe he could just slip his fingers into those panties and then into her. And then he could—

“What did you mean by quid pro quo?” she murmured against his mouth.

“Don’t you ever let anything go?” He kissed her eyelids and a clean spot on her cheek.

With a pained sigh, and ignoring her startled squawk, he lifted her up and off his thighs. “We don’t have time. I’ll do a quick cleanup, and we can talk in the car.”

She started to protest.

He held up a hand, palm out. “I’ll talk, I promise.”

While she waited for him on the porch, he went inside to get the worst of the dirt off himself. The cold water doused his body’s eager longing for Ames, temporarily. He put on jeans, a T-shirt and his easy-to-reach nylon holster again. He’d never gotten used to the weight and feel of a gun against his body and took a couple of minutes to practice pulling the gun from the holster. Nick’s dark wool jacket was off the rack and loose—the casual academic-nerd look, his father had called it. It hid the gun just fine.

They walked to the car without talking. He looked around the clearing, which was too frigging quiet, before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Ames clicked her seat belt closed and stared out the window as he started the car and drove up the bumpy driveway. Too bad there weren’t cameras along the dirt drive. He’d love to know what awaited him over the rise or around the next curve.

“Crap,” she whispered.

“What?”

“This whole situation.”

He stopped the car and studied her. Just as she seemed to know him, he figured he could read her better than most people. “Come on. I know you’re holding back, Ames. Tell me what you’re thinking, and then I’ll tell you what you asked me about earlier.”

She laughed then, for the first time in hours. A great sound. “I think I might be