In Too Deep (14 page)

"
Someone
was in here tonight. The bulb didn't burn out. It was gone. So's your night-light. Which means that either you were unlucky enough to have two visitors, or your inept knife-wielding assassin came back for another try. What about your jewelry and money? Still here, or gone?"

She slid off the bed. "God. I hope he took every dime." She was an adult, with access to credit cards, and to all manner of assistance should she need it. The panicky feeling faded a bit. But she knew it was crouched deep inside her, ready to spring forward and attack without warning. If the thief had wiped her out financially, she'd deal with it.

"You do?"

"Hell, yes. That means he was here to take
stuff
. Stuff can be replaced."

As for the man with the magic lightbulbs, her
non-hero
, all she knew about him was his proclivity for garish Hawaiian glow-in-the-dark shorts, and his name. And she couldn't be sure "Michael Wright"
was
his name. He had a nice boat. But as far as Tally knew, he
could
have stolen her traveler's checks.

If he looked like a pirate… Lord. She was getting paranoid. "I'll check later."

"Honey, you don't have anything I want." His lips moved in an unnerving parody of a smile. "Check now."

You don't have anything I want
? Swallowing hard, Tally reached down at the head of the bed and grabbed her cosmetic bag. With trembling fingers, she pulled out the jewelry pouch and opened it. "Maybe it wasn't flashy enough for him."

Michael took the pouch and looked inside. "Understated. Elegant. Expensive." He glanced at her and handed it back. "Very… you."

She didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered, so she ignored his assessment. The wallet was easier. She fanned out just over three thousand dollars in traveler's checks. "Guess he didn't like my money, either. Traveler's checks are so, so understated, elegant, expensive, and so me."

Her attempt at levity fell flat. Her mouth went dry, and she felt the blood drain from her head. "This is not good."

"Don't be too quick to jump to conclusions. If he
did
want to kill you, he was a lousy assassin."

"Oh, thanks. I've never rated incompetence highly enough. I feel so much better now."

"This is a pocket knife, honey. If he was serious, he would've had something bigger and sharper. And he'd've done the job without waking you."

Tally put a hand up to her throat. "Thanks. I think."

"My guess is he was here to rob you and couldn't find the goods. You woke up and scared the crap out of him, and he was trying to frighten you."

"He succeeded, thank you very much. Why did he come back, then?"

Michael put his hands behind his head and whistled out a breath. "Hell if I know." The hair in his armpit was dark and silky.

Oh, Lord. How could a man's armpit be sexy
? She dragged her attention away from that body part. But there were other, even
better
things to look at. His broad chest. His muscular arms. His mouth…

God, she was glad he was here. How casual he was. All tanned, hairy skin and insouciant relaxation. Tally perched on the edge of the mattress, one big, stretched nerve.

She straightened her shoulders, uncertain whether she should pull on something over her pajamas or act as though she were properly dressed for company. With perverse disappointment she realized her state of undress didn't seem to bother him at all. But it bothered the hell out of her. Knowing he was three feet away, and she wasn't wearing any underwear under her pajama bottoms, made her hyper-conscious of body parts she'd told to go back to sleep.

"Walk me through this one more time. What happened before you fell?" Michael asked, his tone cool and meditative. There was a quality in his stillness that unnerved her, although she couldn't think why. If he were any more laid back he'd be in a coma.

She noticed a small, pale, crescent-shaped scar just above his left nipple. She could only see it because the light was so bright. He also had a genuine six-pack of banded abdominal muscle that moved gently as he breathed. Her mouth went dry. He'd asked… ?

"Something… someone… woke me. The room was pitch-black." There was something far too…
immediate
about him. Something far too elemental, too visceral. Unfortunately, there was also something secretive about him—the haunted look in his eye, the bitter twist to his mobile, unsmiling mouth—that called to her, even though she was smart enough not to let it show. It was a ridiculous and unfounded physical reaction to a total stranger. Tally ruthlessly tamped down the bubbling cauldron of emotion.
I said no. I mean no
, she reminded herself.

"I ran," she said with spurious calm, finger-combing her short, damp hair off her face. "I felt a hand on my back before I fell."

There was a brief knock at the door; her uninvited guest rose. Tally backed up. Auntie shuffled in with a sunset orange beach towel over one shoulder and a bottle of oil in her hand. She looked from one to the other. "I come back later."

"No, come in," Tally said quickly. "Michael was just leaving."

"Sleep good, hottie."

" 'Night, ladies." Michael gave Tally a look that said they weren't done, then closed the door quietly behind him.

She let out a gusty sigh, and Auntie grinned. "He be one hot potato that one. Okay-dokey. Your poor, sad muscles are gonna be lovin' this. You get on the bed. On your tummy. Auntie fix good. You see."

Tally obediently lay on her stomach on the cool sheets, her head cradled in her arms. Auntie lit a candle and placed it on the table beside the bed. It smelled of vanilla. Next, she turned off the bright lamp, plunging the room into flickering shadows. Not Tally's optimum comfort level. Especially now.

Auntie patted her stiff shoulder. "You gotta relax, baby girl. Take your top off," she instructed. A click, and soft music played from the bedside clock radio.

Tally stripped off the pajama top and settled facedown on the mattress. How long could a quick massage take?

She heard the creak of a metal cap as Auntie opened a bottle, then the sound of oil being rubbed between her palms. The fragrance of mint filled the air as Auntie placed her strong hands on Tally's back.

"Now you close your eyes, and listen to the nice music. Feel Auntie's hands make everything better." For such a heavy woman, Auntie had a firm, but gentle touch.

Tally closed her eyes and tried to push everything else out of her mind. The music was soothing, and the feel of Auntie's hands moving down her spine felt great.

Michael stood on the lanai and watched as Tally relaxed under the older woman's skillful hands.
He
wanted to be the one touching her, stroking her smooth, golden skin. He felt like a kid standing outside the candy store. Everything he wanted was in that candlelit room. He could protect her better if he were right there with her.

He stepped quietly through the door into the room. Auntie glanced up without surprise. Her hands kept moving as she tilted her head, indicating the bottle of oil beside her on the small wicker table.

Michael smiled as he poured the mint-scented oil between his hands and came up beside Auntie.

She stepped out of his way, lifting one hand off Tally's narrow back. Michael placed his in the spot she'd just vacated, and ran his thumb up Tally's spine.

Tally moaned. "Oh. That feels wonderful."

Auntie grinned up at him and lifted her other hand in the air. Michael replaced her hands with both his, and pressed down on Tally's spine. He heard the soft brush of Auntie's callused feet as she went to the door. Felt the faint rush of warmer air as she opened the door into the hallway.

The door closed silently, leaving him alone with Tally in the candlelit room, soft music playing, and her half-naked.

He shifted a knee onto the bed, then straddled her without touching. She stiffened, her smooth brow puckered in a frown. He gently massaged her shoulder, and ran his thumb over the twin ridges between her eyes. She sighed and relaxed as he ran his thumbs firmly down the shallow indentation of her spine.

His fingers splayed across her narrow, lightly tanned back glistening with oil. He kneaded down the tight muscles in her back all the way to the low elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms.

She moaned low in her throat. "Mmm. That feels amazing"—she paused—"Michael."

He chuckled, running his fingers up her back and under her hair and rubbing her neck until she groaned low in her throat. "No surprises, huh?"

She buried her face in her arms, so her voice was muffled. "I felt the changing of the guard."

"I must be losing my touch."

"Your touch—oh, yeah, hmmm, right there—is terrific."

"This is supposed to be relaxing and you're tensing up. Listen to the music and just feel."

She wasn't going to relax just because he told her to.

Michael smoothed his hands in a circle over her shoulders.

Tally sighed. "Tell me a deep, dark secret," she demanded softly, her voice thick and on the edge of sleep.

Her skin beneath his hands was fine-grained and as soft as a child's. Her back was narrow, fragile—and, damn it, bruised. "What kind of deep, dark secret?" The combined fragrances of the vanilla candle, mint oil, and Tally's own unique scent filled Michael's senses and went straight to his head. And lower. He was rock hard. All he had to do was flip her over. He was poised right over her. God. How easy to slip into the welcoming heat of her…

"Something you've never told another living soul," Tally said dreamily.

His life was full of secrets. Most of them deep and dark. He realized he was caressing more than massaging, and found a tight knot under her shoulder blade to work on.

"This isn't the moment for deep, dark secrets," he told her thickly. "Unless you'd like to share?"

She sighed into her arms, and her body turned fluid under his hands. He ran his palm down her sides, and his fingers brushed the plumped-up swell of her breasts.

"I don't have's"—she sucked in a breath—"secrets. Deep, dark or other-otherwise."

"Yeah? Must be nice. Ask me another time."

"I will. Tell me—"

"What?"

"About you," she finished.

"What do you want to know?"

Michael fanned his hands down the small of her back, then swept them under the elastic of her pajamas. Her behind was as sleek and toned as the rest of her. Instead of protesting, Tally melted into the mattress with a sigh. "Favorite food?"

"Mexican."

"Mine too. Favorite color?" She was starting to sound almost drugged with exhaustion. It had been a hell of a night. She needed to sleep.

But damn it, he didn't want to stop touching her. "Blue," he said gruffly. The clear, unflinching blue of Tally's eyes.

"Favorite music?"

"Eighties. You?"

"Jazz."

"Hmm. Favorite Christmas?"

"The year before my mom died. I was eleven. Yours?" He slipped the loose pants down her hips and stroked her butt. No massage, just a gentle stroke of his fingers across the twin mounds of her sweet ass. He felt her shudder between his knees, and wanted to fall on her like a starving man.

"Boarding school. Switzerland. I was thirteen, and had my first best friend. Sandra Klein. Yours?"

"Best friend?"

"Hmm."

"Hugo," he said hoarsely. "My best friend was Hugo Caletti."

"What happened to him?"

"Who said anything happened to him? He's great. Lives in Peoria with his wife and three kids."
I wish
.

"Did he die?" Tally asked gently.

Michael looked down at her narrow back through a filmy haze. "Yeah." He swallowed the lump in his throat, and wondered why, all of a sudden, he wanted to spill his guts. He wasn't a man who liked to talk about himself. Especially to a woman. Hell. Particularly,
this
woman. "You could say that. Yeah. He died." He sure as shit didn't go easy into that good night.
Christ, don't go there, Lieutenant
.

"I'm sorry." She reached over her shoulder and clasped his fingers in hers.

He swung his leg over her and off the bed, pulling away from her. Physically as well as mentally. "You need to get some sleep."

He didn't run for the door. But he moved damn fast.

"So, how far is this famous waterfall?" Michael asked the next morning. He had to hand it to Tally: The woman had amazing resiliency. The marks on her throat made
him
furious every time he looked at them, yet she was her bouncy, happy self. If he hadn't seen the very real fear in her eyes last night, he'd imagine nothing untoward had happened.

He hadn't slept more than a couple of hours himself. Saying Hugo's name out loud had been a new kind of torment.

"About a mile that way." Tally gestured toward the lava field ahead. "According to Auntie, it's about half a mile beyond, and to the left"—she grinned—"of the tallest palm."

He made a concerted effort to push the darkness away. "Great directions."

"Perfectly clear to me. Look"—she pointed—"you can see the top of the palm way over there." On the edge of the lava field, the lush tropical vegetation rose in gentle folds up the hill. One tree stood above the rest. A perfect landmark.

Michael carried a hamper filled with god-only-knew-what from Auntie's kitchen. Certainly enough food to feed half a dozen people by the weight.

The sky was overcast, the air muggy. Coupled with a sexy as hell sheen of perspiration, Tally wore a pink tank top tucked neatly into a pair of khaki shorts. On her feet were sensible hiking boots and matching pink socks. Today she'd left off the makeup. Either in deference to the heat, or in the mistaken belief that she appeared less attractive without it.

"Do you think it'll rain before we get there?" she asked, looking up at the sky.

"Probably. So. Do you have a significant other back in Chicago?"

"Jealous?" she teased.

Michael slapped a hand over his heart. "About to throw myself on my sword."

There was silence as they picked their way over the hard lava.