Fatal Wild Child (11 page)

Gabrielle panted and clung to him. Her hands were inside his jacket...inside his shirt. Seth blinked, lifting his lips from hers. It was suddenly bright in the restaurant, like they had hit a dimmer switch and cranked it all the way up.

How had Gabrielle got her hands inside his shirt without him noticing? He didn't even mind that she had probably had to slide her hands around his gun harness to do so. It didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. She was looking at him with sleepy eyes. "Seth," she murmured. "Oh, Seth..."

His heart leapt. He could live forever just hearing her say his name that way.

"We can't stay here," he said. He wasn't surprised to hear his voice emerge rough and strained. "And I won't insist on my cabin as it's such a memory maker for you."

She buttoned his shirt with hands that trembled. "Let's go somewhere where my family—my father—won't be able to reach us so easily, Seth."

"You have somewhere in mind?"

She smiled. It was a slow, wicked smile that made his heart stop and his pulse rise once more. "They rent rooms here, too."

Chapter Eight

Gabrielle giggled as Seth closed the door and locked it. He lifted a brow as he threw their coats on the chair next to the TV cabinet.

"I've never done this before," she confessed.

"Never?" He looked surprised.

"I know...that wicked Hollywood brat history of mine." She sat on one of the beds. "You'd be surprised how much of the tabloid stuff is pure fiction, Seth."

"I probably wouldn't be," Seth said. He sat on the bed opposite her. "The headlines are too ridiculous to be true, to my mind." He dug inside his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. "I have to make a call. Business, sorry. It'll take three minutes, then business is done for the night."

"To Tyler, downstairs?"

He looked surprised, then nodded. "Yes, to Tyler. He needs to know where we are." He punched in a number and listened. "Tyler, thanks for getting here so fast. I wasn't expecting help, but I'm damned glad to have it...We're upstairs. Room 213 and locked in. For the night." The look he sent Gabrielle was hot and thick with implied promise. She shivered.

"Get some sleep," Seth said into the phone and disconnected. He put the cell phone on the night table between the beds and stood up. "You felt my gun, earlier, when you were kissing me, didn't you?"

Gabrielle could feel herself blushing, which was utterly ridiculous. She was a grown woman and had simulated wild, frantic lovemaking on screen, buck naked, for millions of movie-goers. Why did the mention of simple kissing make her coy? She nodded.

"So if I pull out all my weapons and pile them on the bureau, you're not going to go all weak-kneed and feminine?" Seth asked.

"I could probably disassemble and reload the Glock under your armpit quicker than you can," she said, at last feeling like she was on territory she knew.

Seth's eyes got bigger. "Excuse me?"

"I thought the Browning or the SIG P220 were standard issue for Canadian infantry?"

Seth sat on the bed again. "Just what was in that file, again?" he asked.

She smiled, enjoying Seth's surprise. "Nothing about what you're carrying around inside your clothes. I figured that out for myself a few moments ago. I have pretty good touch-perception. Do you remember a movie about six years ago, called
Demon Hunter
?"

Seth shook his head.

"Most people don't," Gabrielle confessed, not at all upset. "It was a bad movie and it went straight to DVD a week after release. But one of the things that the director wanted in a scene was the heroine—me—to break down and reassemble a long row of guns in record time and he wanted the camera to track me as I did it. No breakaways. Which meant I couldn't get a stunt double to do it for me. So I had to learn to do it for myself. I had six weeks to learn while we were filming in the Mohave and I was bored out of my brains out there, so I dived into the lessons out of sheer gratitude at first. The guy teaching me was closed-mouthed about his military history." She smiled at Seth. "A lot like you."

Seth grinned.

"But I got the impression he was one of those black ops types. Been everywhere, knew everything. And boy, did he know guns. Respected them, handled them well. He taught me everything, once he knew I was willing to learn. And along with the lessons, he gave me all the stories. Military stuff, about what armies used what weapons and why. Each gun's weaknesses and strengths and how to exploit them. The guy was a genius."

"Barty Evans," Seth said softly. "Has a scar on his cheek here," and he touched his cheek just next to his nose.

"That's him," Gabrielle confirmed. "You know him?"

"I worked with him on a few cooperative projects before injuries forced him into early retirement. Barty is an ex Marine and very much black ops, as you thought. He was a small arms consultant for just about every army around the world. Whoever was producing your movie paid for the best."

Gabrielle smiled. "It's the best scene in the whole movie and most people probably think a stunt double was doing the work." She put her hands in her lap. "Could I see the Glock?"

Seth cleared his throat. "That's probably the strangest question I've ever had a lady ask me."

"You can clear the clip first, if it helps you feel more comfortable."

"Oh, I'll certainly do that," he said, reaching inside his jacket. He hesitated, then withdrew the gun from his shoulder harness. She recognized it even as he ejected the clip.

"The Glock 37, using the point four-five special Glock auto pistol cartridges," she said softly. She held out her hand.

"You're scaring me," Seth said. He laid the gun on her hand.

She weighed it. "I only got to play with the ten millimeter. They said it wouldn't look realistic if a hundred and ten pound woman was shooting a forty-five." She broke down the gun with easy movements. It came back to her just like riding a bicycle.

"They're right. It wouldn't." Seth was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Gabrielle laughed and looked through the shiny clean barrel at him. "But they didn't mind me taking on a three hundred pound demon at the end of the movie. That was alright." She put the gun together again without hesitation and gave it back to him. "I would really like to try it out one day. At a range."

Seth cleared his throat as he put the clip back into the gun, put the safety back in place and put the gun on the night table. "You like to learn things, don't you?"

"I hated school," Gabrielle confessed. "I couldn't wait to get out of there. I skipped school and auditioned for movies behind Dad's back, just so I could get cast in them and have an excuse not to go to school."

Seth pulled out his switchblade and put it next to the Glock. "You didn't graduate high school?"

Gabrielle grimaced. "Dad hired a tutor that made me sweat through my courses on set. I graduated, but only just."

"But that's not what I meant by learning," Seth said. "You like to learn how to do things. Hands-on stuff. You learned about guns from Barty. And you picked up photography from Sofia Coppola."

Gabrielle stared at Seth as his words opened up a whole roomful of understanding about herself. "It wasn't just Sofia," she said softly. "I learned about photography from just about any cameraman and head of photography and director who would sit still long enough to explain light and lenses to me. I...just liked it. It was interesting and it was something they liked to talk about. It kept the conversation off me and my latest screw up and it helped keep things well-oiled on the set...at least, that's what I thought I was doing. I never thought of it as learning."

"Yet you have at least two cameras and a laptop devoted to storing your photographs," Seth said. He pulled up the leg of his trousers and withdrew a snubbed-nosed Smith & Wesson revolver from an ankle holster and added it to the parade on the night table. "I'd say that's pretty serious learning. In fact, I'd say it's moved well beyond learning. I'd say it's a well-established avocation."

Gabrielle shook her head, feeling a sense of wonder and a rush of pleasure. "You're the first person who has ever noticed that about me. Including myself."

"What else have you learned, over the years?" Seth asked, leaning back on the bed. His blue eyes were warm. "Photography and handguns are an odd mix. I'd love to know what else you've got buried in there."

She shook her head. "No, Seth. You don't get to crack me open like a coconut without some give and take, here. All I have on you so far is military record ashes, red wine, black coffee and a tiny drop of O positive."

"You know you have more than that." His voice was quiet, with a rough note she couldn't quite interpret.

"You, too?" She curled her hand into a ball and thumped her knee. "What is it with men and their belief that revealing anything deeper than a quarter inch is fatal?"

Seth leaned over, and curled his hand around her arm, and drew her to him. "Shh..." he breathed. "Come here."

"Don't 'shhsh' me!"

He grinned. "Want me to tell you to shut up, then?"

She sucked in a breath. "You dare!"

He abandoned his grip on her arm and simply grabbed her waist and pulled her against him. The move caught her by surprise, for instead of meeting the solidness of his body, she found herself falling forward as Seth rolled back. She gasped as they came to rest on the bed, her lying on top of him, Seth's hands holding her steady. His fingertips were burning against her flesh over the lowest part of the scoop back of the dress. She kept very still, trying not to let him see how much that simple touch was affecting her. But her heart was pounding and her pulse was uneven.

Seth stared into her eyes. In this light, his eyes were so very blue they looked painted. The heat coming from his body seemed to bake into her. Suddenly, all her demands about needing to know him felt utterly ridiculous. Childish.

His hand lifted from her waist and pushed her hair gently away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. The gesture was tender, but it only made her heart thunder harder. She was trembling badly now.

"Seth..." It was a plea.

"You're right. I'm afraid," he said softly. "And I'm out of practice. All of the above. Added to that, there's a lot of my life I just can't tell you about because—" He smiled a little. "Then I'd have to kill you." He stroked her cheek. "Give me time, Gabrielle. I want to show you. I do. I just have to figure out how to shrug off the rust."

She bit her lip. "I'm not very good at waiting, Seth. Don't you know that much about me by now?"

He smiled. "I know that much," he agreed. "But I'm asking, anyway. Give me time. You're used to men who spend their lives giving poetic speeches. Who can give you the right line at a second's notice and tell you exactly what you want to hear. They're used to revealing themselves in front of fifty million fans. I'm not. If you want me to say what I mean, you're going to have to wait for me to find the right words and the right time to say them."

She nodded. "For that, I can wait," she whispered, "But only if you kiss me now."

He kissed her. It was better than the first kiss. It was intoxicating. With his long, hard body beneath her, she thought she might die with the power of it coursing through her.

He shifted on the bed without breaking the kiss, lifting them both and resettling them so they were lying on the bed properly. Gabrielle clung to him, still lying on top of him. She trembled as his hands stroked her back, making her arch and her hips push into his pelvis. He groaned in reaction, and pulled his lips from hers. His eyes were hooded. "Do you know what that does to me, when you do that?"

"I have some idea," she murmured, her voice throaty.

He twisted, flipping her onto her back and straddled her hips with a satisfied smile. "Payback," he growled and leaned down to nibble, lick and stroke his way down her body, from chin to toe. As he went, he removed her clothes. His lips and fingers lingered here and there to tease as the mood struck him. Her nipples were a target for his lips and teeth and tongue. Her nether lips were toys for his fingers and tongue to play with for minutes on end, as he explored every crevice.

By the time he reached her toenails, Gabrielle was a writhing, helpless mass of jangling nerve endings. She begged for release in a hoarse voice she barely recognized as her own.

Seth took his time undressing, watching her squirm on the bed as he removed each item of clothing, his gaze predatory and hungry. By the time he was fully naked, Gabrielle was desperate for him to return to her arms and join with her. She studied his wide shoulders, gleaming satin and tanned in the low light from the bedside table. As he turned to toss his clothes over the chair next to the wardrobe, she traced the masculine line of his thighs, over his tight backside and the hard hips, swooping up to his wide back.

Then he turned again to face her. He was erect and pulsing red, thick and more than adequately endowed, nestled between the muscular thighs.

Gabrielle had a purely feminine, satisfied thought: "
He's mine.
"

Seth came to the bed, his eyes locked on hers. He took her in his arms and his knee slipped between her thighs.

Gabrielle's heart and soul paused, waiting.