Holding his Hostage - Amy Gamet Page 0,7

straightened and looked back at him. His eyes struck her first, as they always had—an arresting hazel of golden green that was his alone. Thick dark hair settled in waves and curls, and she remembered the feel of it slipping through her fingers as he moved on top of her. He was bulkier now than he had been, more muscular, the change turning what had been boyish good looks into something dangerous and fine. His brow, always heavy and starkly masculine, emphasized the glare he was giving her. She swallowed.

“Jo, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m not selling Girl Scout cookies.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at him with a smile, the joke garnering no response. She cleared her throat. “I was looking for your mom.”

“She’s in Machu Pichu.”

“Oh…” Fuck.

“Come on in.” He moved over for her to enter, holding open the door with one arm. She squeezed between him and the doorframe just as Gus pushed past her legs, knocking her off-balance and directly into his chest. His warm body carried his familiar scent straight to her brain. His arm came around to steady her, and she jerked away from the contact, righting herself and nearly jumping out of his embrace. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She moved ahead of him to the kitchen, so aware of his presence behind her that her back tingled, and she needed to remind herself how to walk. The smell of something savory hung heavy on the air, and her mouth watered, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in hours. He’d always been an excellent cook, and her empty stomach longed for the food that smelled so good.

It struck her at once—here she was, starving and desperate, while his home was warm and full of food and anything she could possibly need. That had always been the dynamic between them, and it pained her to realize not even that had changed.

She entered the kitchen. A dark-skinned man sat at the table, fit and wiry, traces of silver shining in the scruff on his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

“Joanne Buckley, Mac O’Brady. Mac, this is Jo.” He sat down, gesturing to a chair at a wide barn-wood table.

“I was just about to hit the road.” Mac stood.

She put her hand on her chest. “Don’t let me chase you out.”

“Nah, this fool was talking nonsense anyway. Good time to take my leave.” He took a black leather coat off the back of his chair and slipped his arm into the sleeve. “Though I wouldn’t mind you putting some of those snacks into a ziplock bag for me, Dvorak.”

Joanne took a seat, her stomach growling as she watched Sloan get food for his friend and say goodbye. When he was through, Sloan brought the tray back to the table. “Help yourself.”

Her nervous stomach warred briefly with her hunger, and she took one. “Thanks.”

“What brings you to town? Is it your father?”

She shook her head. “God, no. I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead.”

“Alive, last I knew.”

“Fabulous.” She looked at her hands. This was harder than she could have imagined. “I was really hoping to see your mom.”

“She’ll be back a week from Friday.”

Shit.

Her hand trembled, her stomach rioting against the food she’d just swallowed. “That doesn’t really help me.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Uhm…” She would rather ask the devil himself for a favor, but it’s not like that was an option. She bit her lip.

He leaned back. “I haven’t seen you in thirteen years, then you show up on my doorstep at one in the morning. Gotta be something.”

“I thought your mom would be here. She sent me a card.” He furrowed his brow, and she wondered if he knew David was dead. She’d been hoping they could stay here, but now that plan was all shot to hell. She had a little more than two hundred dollars in cash and hadn’t thought to use her bank card before she left town. Now she was afraid of leaving a trail. “I need help.”

“Name it.”

“Money.” That was the least of it, but it was certainly a start. Running away with a family of four didn’t come cheaply.

“How much?”

“A few thousand.” She looked away, eyes stinging as she desperately tried not to cry. What must he think of her?

His chair scraped the wood floor as he stood. “Cash or check?”

“Aren’t you going to ask what for?”

“You wouldn’t be here unless you need it.” He opened a cupboard and returned with a checkbook.

“Cash would be better.”

He