BUFF (17 page)

Fucking cops.

He keeps coming back to that. He isn’t sure who made the call. He knows it wasn’t one of the Appletons. None of them ever left his sight long enough to sneak a call. He doesn’t know who it was but when he finds out...

The sign for a rest stop zips past them. He straightens, clearing his throat. Now that it’s just the two of them he feels uneasy.

He doesn’t trust himself to do what’s needed.

She’s more unpredictable than any person he's ever met and that makes for a damn nuisance when it comes to his mission. A temper like hers is only asking for trouble. And having the cops on them is making Colt feel more on edge. Pretty much dangling over the edge.

“Pull off the next exit."

“Why?”

He peeks a look from the corner of his eye, not turning. She looks especially tiny behind the wheel. He also notices how it seems to hurt whenever she tries to swallow. His eyes narrow but he doesn’t voice his concern.

“Supplies." She raises an eyebrow. “Town is far from where we're staying." He doesn’t know why but his answer darkens her appearance, like a shadow casts over her. She nods but it’s faint, almost nonexistent. She looks like her heart has been ripped out and something punches in his gut.

He did that.

Sitting so close to her he can’t excuse the dark shadows forming under her eyes, the lines that accent them. Her loose soft brown curls are limp around her, no longer shiny like the side of a polished gem. Her gorgeous green eyes have lost their luster and her body looks ready to crumble. Every now and then she will shake, some part of her will tremble. And he can tell she’s holding herself together to stop the tremors, but she can’t hide them.

She can’t hide from him.

His hand fits around the cool metal latch of the door, suddenly angry, but for a whole different set of reasons.

The car halts to a stop. Becky shifts the gear in park and sits—her face, her body, not moving from its driving position.

“Let's go."

“I'd rather stay if that's okay."

“I wasn’t asking. Let's go.” He opens the door, pushes it halfway then stops. “Becky, I mean it."

She licks her cracked lips, but the move doesn’t recover the moisture that usually makes them glisten like the shell of petals.

She takes the car keys, throws them at his face before going to unlock and open her side door. His hand comes up and catches the keys without breaking her from his sight just as she mutters, “Asshole.”

When he meets her at the back of the SUV her eyes fix on the small gas station in front of them.

“Stop fighting me."

“Stop being an asshole then and let me go."

He starts toward the store. “You keep this up and you're just making it worse for yourself."

“Where did you send my family?"

She doesn’t move from her spot. “Quit asking me questions I can't answer."

She storms toward him, grabbing at his elbow to face her. “Are they dead?" He eyes her, watching her eyes bob back and forth, tears springing to her lashes. The air in his lungs burn his breathing passage. He tries to swallow for release but can't. “Are they?” Her question guttural, hopeless. “You killed them, didn’t you?"

When the first tear falls Colt feels the moisture like a bullet in his heart. He remains stiff in front of her, casting a look at the gas station. “They're alive." Her intake of breath is like a surge of fresh air to his body. “For now."

Her head begins to shake, her mouth opening and closing before the words tumble out. “Colt, please… Whatever you want—money—whatever it is my father can help. He knows people—”

“There's nothing your dad has that I’ll ever want."

Both Colt and Becky seem to catch the double meaning of the statement.

Becky looks away but Colt can’t. For some reason he feels compelled to rectify his words and that anchors his anger deeper. He owes her no explanation. This is his job and whether she knows it or not her father has stabbed Kulich in the back and him as well.

“Do as I say and they might live, Becky."

Her eyes harden and taking a step back she heads toward the store without another glance his way.

“Go to Hell!” she yells, unabashedly, without turning back.

Grabbing everything he needs from inside the store he finds her in the magazine and books aisle. Her eyes are fixing on some red-covered paperback. Colt catches the words: Hot and scandal.

Chick book.

Her body goes ramrod straight when his oncoming build draws close in proximity. Her cheeks glow pink and her eyes dart the plethora of reading material, grabbing the first magazine she can.

He fights his smirk hard. “Didn't know you're into fishing?"

“Hmm,” she answers, pretending to be fascinated with the fishing magazine.

"Finished?"

“Yeah, I'd love to go home."

“Funny.”

He starts walking to the other end of the aisle. “Let's go."

She falls a step behind. “Who says I'm kidding?” she shoots back. He can feel her stare stabbing his back.

He goes straight up to the cashier handing the large basket to the elderly gent behind the counter.

“An even fifty, mister."

Colt digs into his pocket, fishing out the small wad of neatly-folded cash and hands two twenties before thumbing for the ten underneath the rest of the bills. “Here.” He slaps the money down and suddenly realizes how silent and unusually quiet the company at his side is.

He turns to his right, then his left. His eyes shoot up. “Becky,” he calls out, unable to restrain the anger that traces in her name.

Panic and fury simmer in his veins but then his eyes find her, standing in between the mechanical doors that swing in and out. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s grabbing the bag as her feet stomp the mat that opens to the exit. He really doesn’t like how fast she's walking. He doesn’t want to draw attention.

He hisses out to her, “Becky."

The one word should have stopped her, but it only furthers her steps to quicken and that's when he pauses.

Shit!

Cop car.

It's parked opposite them on the other side of the grassy hill that separates the two parking-lots. The police officer is still in his car, his head is down but it won’t be for long if Colt starts running after her, barking, like he wants to.

“Becky.” The last syllable of her name edges close to the blade of his anger.

She wouldn't dare... Oh, fuck she would.

But he's too late.

She starts running and he has little time to think of a plan of action that won’t get them—him—caught.

Abandoning the shopping bag on the pavement he dashes ahead, coming behind the SUV just as her feet begin mounting the small hill.

“Officer—”

Becky only gets one word out before he comes down on her like a ton of bricks.

He hurdles his body into hers, smashing them both into the bumpy grass; their bodies, intertwined, as they fall forward. Becky goes down first. Colt protects her from the fall by pushing her into him and cupping her head to his chest.

Somehow he ends up on top of her, her hands pinned to both sides of her face as he cradles her tiny midsection in between his large thighs, squeezing her body tight. He keeps her face buried in his chest, knowing if he releases her she’ll start screaming.

The door of a car opens. It shuts next to him, shooting off the tension inside him.

“What's going on here?” There is no mistaking the sharp northern accent of the cop proceeding toward them.

His mouth is on her ear, so close, that when he opens to speak, his lips can’t help but touch the shell. “Don't.” His demand is just a breath into her ear. “Don't even think about it."

She juts her midsection out to try and hit him in the groin, but she can’t get enough power to put any strength into the assault. His arms bracket her face from the cop's view, her screams muffling into his chest.

The crunch of boots sends him spurring into action.

“I said, what the hell's going on over here?” The police officer moves a step closer. “Ma'am, you okay?"

Colt licks his lips, breathing in, taking in the sweet aroma of her body; the smell more powerful than he's ready for.

He lets up on the pressure of his chest that compresses her into the ground. He closes his eyes, shifting lower and pressing his face into hers. His eyelashes brushes and tangles with hers as his nose
smushes
into her cheek.

His lips might as well be kissing her. When he moves to speak they touch hers, slipping up and down as they catch in between and over her mouth like open kisses, but with words. Her lips taste sweet like honey.

“You talk and you're family—”

“Piss off,” she whispers, lowly. When his eyes fix on her mouth, panic wells in her orbs, swelling her eyes like two large balloons. “Don't you dare,” she warns, her lips parting and hitting his.

Both their mouths are open, caressing one another, but Colt doesn’t move away. Can’t move away.

The officer isn’t leaving.

He has no choice. He has no fucking choice!

Colt's eyes finds her mouth again, purposefully ignoring the shaft of warmth that floods him. He curses the cop as his head comes down, his intentions remarkably clear to him—and his captive.

“Do it and I'll make you bleed,” she hisses, just as he makes up his mind and sinks his mouth into hers.

She freezes under him, his lips moving gently, more gently than he aims. He only wants to shut her up.

So he kisses her.

The pressure of his lips is hard, but the persuasion of his movements is soft, melding their bodies and mouths together. He doesn’t mean to seduce her and he certainly doesn’t want the kiss to turn as erotically charged as fast as it does. But feeding off his instincts he can’t stop himself when she catches him off guard and shifts her thighs so that she’s straddling him, pressing him closer so that his midsection is being crushed by hers.

His hands release hers on impulse and palm the back of her thigh. A burning sensation fires across his skin, tearing his senses to shreds. He gasps into her mouth, her lips hungry as her teeth skims his lower lip and her pelvis rubs up against his, releasing and clenching. Her nails scorch fire, scraping against the back of his scalp and presses his face deeper into hers.

The warm clash of her soft, velvety skin, her cheek brushing his, the scent of her body is drowning out the world. When he hears her moan, feels the arousal of her soft wet center against his, his beastly nature roars to life, unshackled from restraint. His arm comes under her head, bringing her so close so he can devour her mouth.

His tongue finds hers in the jumbled mess; meets outside their mouths but quickly seeks shelter in the dark crevasse of her opening as he follows the wet leading of her tongue.

First he coaxes her, his tongue moving up and down so that his mouth is directly over hers, but he doesn’t like that. He slants, shifting his mouth to the side, hunting for deeper access to what lays inside. The second he does his tongue is swirling over hers, side to side, looping around her mouth until she follows and mimics the move. The friction of their moist heated tongues is the only thing he can feel.

He hears her whimper and he continues, the rush of power turning him hard-as-steel in his jeans as he finally answers her body and pushes himself against her. His tongue plunges deeper simultaneously with his body.

All thoughts of the officer behind him, the crunch for time, the trail of cops and the strict methodical structure he prides himself on—evaporates into thin air.

He knows he’s in danger.

But all he can do is kiss her.

And he can’t fucking stop.

FUCK.

"Fuck,” he mutters, the curse rumbling from deep inside his chest. Becky seems to swallow the small vibration of sound between them and attacks the swollen, pliant flesh of his mouth that hovers over hers, ready.

She is all over him; clawing at him like she wants to shred whatever small barrier of clothing lay between them—have him take her right there on the ground. Her hands are everywhere. Her nails dig into his scalp, his cheeks. They're voyaging down the middle of his back, squeezing the life out of him, begging in demand with each hard tug at his body.

Unprepared he tries to breakaway a bit, confused by the thundering craving that’s turbulently overriding his customary self control.

Her lips scatter kisses, frantic and hungry for long heated seconds only to turn soft and moist, maneuvering around his mouth with an enticing taunt. The way her body sighs in quivering releases under him makes need split violently inside him. He isn’t trying to make this hard. It isn’t supposed to be this way.

It's like she can read his mind. Her tongue keeps playing hide and seek with his. Peeking in, giving him a lick of a taste only to draw back and make him chase. It's like she knows he’s starving for more of the exquisite friction of her tongue.

Desire, hard and pounding, rockets against this skull. His fingertips pulse, aching to throw the nun-like sweater she’s wearing over her head and finally get a nice view of what's underneath. A view he can devote hours to, studying her until he knows every inch of her skin by heart. Until every freckle, every slope, has been memorized, until his mouth is the only contact her body calls for.

The primal wish makes all his good intentions crumble. His body is ready to be her servant and obey each and every thing her body wants. His cold hands come up, skimming under her sweater. Her flesh is burning molten and the contrasting friction ceases everything inside him, muting out the world as the feel of her crashes through him.

The length of his fingers alone almost covers the plane of her stomach. They compress into the cushion of her soft flesh, inching up, hungry to move higher, but excited at the slow blaze that fills them both in the languorous pace upward.

Then a throat clears directly behind him.

The stronghold of lust over him dies in its place. His body feels heavy but it all screeches to a stop, weighing through him like his blood has turned into metal.

His senses are fuzzy, turning his vision hazy and off-kilter. Becky doesn’t stop. She's kissing him, pulling at his bottom lip to come back down to where she is and continues.

What the fuck’s she doing?

“I said what the hell is going on here?"

“Officer,” he swallows. He’s in serious need of air. It seems to have been vacuumed up between the both of them. “We, uh, got a little…” He shakes his head, hoping the older man will just understand and walk the other way.

He feels Becky's kisses skim his jaw, a moist tickle touches his pulse point. His hand comes around her head, molding to the shape of her skull, tugging gently as he smiles apologetically at the law enforcer. “Sweetie.” He looks down, gives her a chaste kiss as his eyes beam a silent warning. “Honey, the nice policeman is here… We should probably—”

“There's a motel down the block. This here is a family place of business, mister."

“Of course.” Colt has never heard himself sound so polite. “Officer.” He smiles in a congenial way that conveys to the police officer the extent of his embarrassment. It's the last thing he feels even though he’s caught-off-guard by the sharp turn from white-hot passion to cold, hard reality. “Thank you."

“Mmhmm.” The officer's lips pucker out in an unforgiving pout. “See that you're on your way."

Relief backs up on Colt as he bends, shaking his head at the retreating cop strolling back to his squad car. He mutters a curse, his eyes close, remembering that his body is still very much entangled with hers.

He freezes, suddenly awkward in the intimate position they’ve been led to. “Becky—”

His eyes open just as her head stretches up to meet his. He thinks she’s going to kiss him again, but something about the way her eyes blacken and her nostrils flare...

He knows he's entering a world of hurt then.

Her lips trap his bottom one and she bites down so hard, Colt immediately feels the coat of hot liquid seep into his gums. He pulls at the back of her hair but she doesn’t relent. In his peripheral vision he can see the cop car pulling out, backing up and then going straight until the tail lights fade onto the side street. The second he’s no longer in sight Becky lets go.

“The fuck—”

“Get off me.” She shoves at his chest. “You ever try something like that again and you're walking away a eunuch. You got that?"

He ignores the flush in her cheeks and separates himself from her. "I'm not the one who started this,” he says, wiping the blood from his lip. He tips his bloody finger at her, his eyes narrowing. “Cute." Smearing the warm liquid on his jeans he scowls.

“Problem?” She stands, or at least tries to stand, slightly off balance as she leans a hand against the ground and then straightens to her full height, slowly. “You practically molest me and I'm supposed to just lay there and take it?"

“I had to think fast. He was right there thanks to you and your big fucking mouth. You ever pull a stunt like that again..."

She marches past him heaving short breaths from her chest like her lungs can’t quench itself with enough air. “Screw you and your threats. I'm
not
afraid of you anymore. How can I be when I already know what you're capable of."

Stuck in place the lingering rage in him resurfaces, replacing whatever misguided attraction has been confusing him. He turns to catch up with her and in one quick swoop he slices his arm through the loophole of the shopping bag. It takes only a few long strides before he's at her side, yanking her elbow so she has to face him.

“Don't push me, Becky,” he threatens, stabbing a finger near her face. “You'll regret it."

“I really don't care what—”

“If I have to”—his voice rises above hers—“I'll cuff you to the goddamn wheel."

“You wouldn't dare."

"Tempt me,” he says, his voice deepening. “Now get in the car."

Her eyes drop to his mouth. He can feel the small red blotch on his lips beginning to crust over. When she looks up at him he can’t help but stare at her lips.

“I hope you're not waiting for me to apologize because I won't."

“I wasn't,” he replies. “Move.” He tips his head at the truck.

Her eyes roll. “Is that the only way you know how to talk? Ordering people around?"

“I'm in charge,” he clarifies. “What I say goes."

Moving her aside he unlocks the door and pushes her toward it. When she stays in her place he gently nudges her until she’s tripping over the ledge. She slaps his hand away stomping on the ledge. He slams the door on her just when she opens her mouth to curse at him again and gets into the passenger side.

When he throws the bag on the floor next to him, she says, “That must get old really fast." His eyebrow rises partially, his eyes fix on searching the immediate area. "Always ignoring my questions," she mutters. She rummages for the keys clearly not remembering she’d thrown them at him. When she turns he’s sitting there, the keys held out, his eyes still scanning like a radar around the vicinity of the SUV.

She swipes the keys from his hand, pulls back and shoves it into the ignition as she says, “Sorry about the lip,” she smirks. "You bring out the absolute best in me."

His answer steps in time with hers, “I can tell."

She shakes her head; the deafening silence escalates.

“Well, two can play at that game. Now you know." She turns and locks eyes with his.

“The hell does that mean?”

“Before…” she answers, her voice less sure, “…on the grass. Don't think it's your skills that had me pawing at you like that."

His stare doesn’t back down. “Wasn't it?"

She scoffs at him, turning back onto the highway. “Hardly. I can lie too if I have to, you know. You're not the only one who knows how to manipulate a situation."

He faces the open highway again. “Okay." The smirk that plays across his mouth dissolves whatever anger he’s holding on to. Her words amuse him and his actions—reactions for that matter—seem to be having the opposite effect on her.

“What does that mean?” she asks.

He licks his lips slowly. “What does what mean?” He's knows he’s pulling her loathsomeness for him in ten opposite directions.

“You don't think I was acting back there?"

“I know you weren't.” His eyes skim her face before going down for a sweet and torturous trail of her body. “Believe me. I know."

Switching her attention back to the road she tries to come back at him. “You don’t know anything."

“Right,” he drawls.

She shakes her head. “You got me all figured out, don't you?” she murmurs. “No, I mean it. You're right. You had me pegged from the second you met me. You knew what to say, what to do to get me to help you. I didn't know I was so easy to read and here I thought I was hiding myself, keeping everything bottled up inside so no-one could know how I really feel, so no-one could get to me… And then you came along.” She laughs, hollowly. “You came along and knew exactly what buttons to push. You must have laughed so much when I stupidly believed that this made-up gang was after you. Me. Gullible stupid me, helping the guy who was sent to kill my own father! God, that must have been so entertaining for you. All those hours you spent up there thinking about what an idiot I was... The broken girl confessing all—"

“I didn't… I mean, I wasn't..." He sighs. She isn't listening to him. His words are bouncing right off of her. He can’t blame her.

“How much longer?"

“Becky—”

“How much longer?” she asks, her voice straining. When she sneaks a glimpse his way he can’t hide the regret in his eyes. “Don't,” she warns.

Looking away he says, “Keep going straight till you hit exit 94.”

The muscle of his jaw clenches and he looks out onto the open road where their endless journey seems to never end.

Redemption will never be in his cards.

*     *     *

“I DON’T GET IT.”

When Colt had mentioned the word
‘cabin’
she'd imagined logs stacked together next to a tree stump with an axe chopped down the center like something out of a Chainsaw Massacre movie.

“What’s the catch?”

There is a dense patch of forest behind them but it's the only part of the cabin-style vision she was on target about. The place is enormous and surrounded by luscious green grass and hilltops. There is no dark, dank trees or scary dirt path that winds into more frightful unknowns...

She looks at the panoramic windows at the back and can’t stop her jaw from gaping at the small bridge that leads to a private lake. This is a luxurious getaway; not a place for one to be held against their will.

She follows Colt inside and watches him open one of the many doors, hauling the shopping bag onto the floor. When he doesn’t respond she’s glad, hoping he hasn’t heard her. They haven’t spoken after the kiss. She’s too scared and nervous to say anything. And Colt, he’s too busy being his usual introspective, cold-hearted self.

It unsettles Becky how up and down they are with one another. One second they’re hot in-your-face snarling and the next, neither seems to gather up enough courage to even look at each other. And the kiss hasn't helped to relieve the tension.

God, the kiss...

She looks at his mouth, the small cut on the side of his bottom lip. If possible, it makes him look more menacing.

More deadly beautiful.

Clearing her throat she makes an awkward, strained sound. “So... where’s the basement?"

He heads deeper into the cabin and when he finally decides to answer her he’s speaking from somewhere behind her. “Why?"

“I just… I don't… Where's the basement?”

“There… is none,” he replies, peering at her as if she’s lost her mind. “Why?"

“Well,” she shrugs, “where am I going to stay? I mean, where are you going to lock me up?"

There is no misreading the insult that reaches his eyes. “Your
room's
off to the kitchen.” He stomps around her, pointing in the general direction of the facilities. She follows, leaning a foot into the living-room to see the small shadowed hallway that branches out from the large shiny kitchen.

“There's a connecting bathroom so...” His shoulder's lift and he appears almost awkward in his movements. “…you don't have to worry."

His awkwardness bleeds off into her. She’s his hostage, his captive, his leverage, as he delicately put it, but standing in the middle of this luxurious cabin, physical danger is the last thing she feels.

“Where are we?"

“Aston."

“Aston?"

“Yeah. Ladysmith Valley, Aston, to be exact? We're right on the border of—”

“Canada,” she finishes.