One Kiss More (16 page)

“I will. You too, sir.”

Monroe snorted in response and hung up.

Landon let out a huff of breath and let his head hang between his shoulders. A knot of tension the size of a freaking boulder formed between his shoulder blades and he doubted he’d find any relief until this operation was wrapped up.

“Is everything okay?”

No. Everything was
not
okay. “Yeah, everything is fine. That was my chief deputy back in Portland. Apparently he got a dose of Bill Crawford charm tonight. But it’s no big deal.”

“Are you sure?” Emma’s footsteps whispered across the carpeting and the hairs on the back of Landon’s neck stood on end as she came up behind him. So close the warmth of her breath caressed his skin.
Damn
.

Landon took a step to the side, putting some much needed distance between them. He couldn’t think straight when she was so near. Couldn’t make a rational decision to save his life. And he needed to be at the top of his game if he was going to keep Emma out of danger and the SOG off his back. Which meant he couldn’t give in to his desires. No more temptation. No more close contact with her. He needed to end this dangerous flirtation before it turned into something he could no longer control.

Flirtation? Yeah, right. They’d passed
flirtation
a few miles back. Before Monroe’s interruption, Landon had been racing down the road toward hot, dirty sex. His body reacted as he thought about kissing Emma. Touching her. Tasting . . .
O-kay. Time to call it a night. Fuck
. How was he supposed to stop thinking about Emma like that when all he wanted was to think about her like that?

“It’s late, Emma.” Landon infused his voice with a calm he wasn’t even close to feeling. “I think we’d better go to bed.”

A slow, sensual smile spread across Emma’s lips, still swollen and pink from their kisses. Her dark eyes smoldered with a heat that promised all sorts of wonderful things as she took a step closer. Jesus, she was
killing
him. Landon averted his gaze and grabbed a pillow from the king-sized bed. “I’ll take the chair. You can have the bed. You need to get some sleep. I guarantee tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”

Her expression fell, the disappointment slicing through Landon like a razor blade. “Oh, okay, then. But you don’t have to sleep on the chair, Landon. There’s plenty of room in the bed.”

Distance would be a hell of a lot easier if he hadn’t demanded that she call him Landon. The way his name rolled off her tongue was bliss. Each syllable sweetened by her voice. “I’ll be all right. Believe me, I’ve slept in worse places. Tomorrow, I’ll try to get us two adjoining rooms, or one with two beds at the very least.”

A deep crease cut into her brow, her beautiful mouth turned down in an almost pout. Adjoining rooms? Separate hotels would be better. Separate states. Landon doubted a cross-country divide would be wide enough to keep him from wanting Emma with anything less than raging desire. But he had to keep himself in check. She deserved him at one hundred percent. And he wasn’t going to give Crawford or Monroe any excuse to shit-can his ass.

Emma turned her back on him and a deep ache took root in Landon’s chest. From the edge of the bed, the sound of several hitched breaths made its way to him before she reached over to turn off the light. In the blinding darkness, Landon waited for the telltale sounds of the bed linens rustling as Emma crawled under the covers. Once she settled in, he took his place on the chair, propping his feet up on the ottoman as he tucked the pillow beneath his head. He stared at the ceiling, unseeing, every nerve on his body aware of the woman lying not five feet from him. Minutes passed. And then an hour. The silence gutted him, but he kept his ass parked right where it was despite the urge to go to her.

Emma let out a gentle sigh, and after a few minutes her breathing finally became deep and even. Landon shifted on the chair—his holster was digging into his ribs—and he moved the damned Glock out of the way lest he wake up with a bruise the size of a baseball. She’d never given up on her dad, even after all this time. Any other person would have thrown in the towel, but not Emma. She fought and dug, and fought some more until she got what she wanted. And she didn’t even realize what she was in for. Emma had thrown herself into a dangerous situation without a safety net and Crawford was going to capitalize on that blind bravery and use it to his advantage. Landon got the whole “protect the nation—the masses—at all costs,” but Emma’s life was a casualty he wasn’t willing to simply sit back and accept. After everything she’d told him, he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d failed her six years ago by letting her father take the fall for a crime he hadn’t committed. He refused to fail her again.

Landon’s eyes drifted shut and he let the gentle sounds of Emma’s breathing lull him. He just needed to sleep. A little rest would bring him some much-needed clarity and focus. Tomorrow was a new day and he’d be ready to face it like a professional. No matter the personal cost. Even if that cost was a chance with the one woman he wanted more than anything.

Chapter Thirteen

Everyone I know—even my best friend—thinks I’m dead
.

Emma inhaled a deep breath and brought her arms high above her head, chin tilted toward the ceiling as she paused in the Sun Salute position. Her palms came together and she brought them down to heart level as she exhaled and shifted into Warrior’s Pose. There wasn’t enough yoga on the planet to bring her the level of calm she needed, but at this point she’d take what she could get.

The events of the previous night took up way too much space in the forefront of her mind, and no matter how many times she tried to forget them—to clear her thoughts and focus on the meditation techniques—she couldn’t banish the sound of Landon’s voice from her ears when he said,
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to be this close to you? The things I want to do to you right now?”
Emma’s stomach clenched tight as she remembered the way his lips had felt on hers. His teeth nipping at her bottom lip . . . and the sting of his rejection when he’d finally come to his senses and opted to sleep curled up in a ball on the armchair rather than in the bed with her.

Ugh
.

She looked to her right, her eyes roaming freely over Landon’s contorted form. A self-satisfied smirk grew on her face as she thought of the tight knots and stiffness he’d suffer today from sleeping that way. Not that his mild discomfort could even compare to the hurt she felt at his rebuff, but still. At this point, she’d take what little retribution she could get.

Emma plopped down on the bed—yoga wasn’t doing anything to calm her—and snatched the TV remote from the nightstand. She flipped through the channels, unconcerned that the noise might rouse the hotshot deputy marshal camped out on the chair, and searched until she found ESPN. If she couldn’t find a state of Zen through meditation,
SportsCenter
was bound to do the trick.

“What are you watching?”

Landon sounded a little better than death warmed over, his voice heavy with exhaustion and carrying the slightest rasp. Which did absolutely
nothing
for Emma. Not sexy. Like, at all. Rather, she attributed the glow of warmth that radiated over her skin to Gilberto Silva recapping the Sounders game last night. Yep. That was it. Nothing turned her on like listening to the witty banter of a sports anchor walking her through the highlights as she watched the replay of Clint Dempsey evading the Galaxy’s defenders to score the winning goal. In fact, maybe when this was all said and done, Emma would see if Tyson could hook her up with one of the guys from the team. They were all pretty good friends and it was time she got out there and started dating again.

“
SportsCenter
,” she finally replied. As though on their own, her eyes wandered to where Landon was stretched out on the chair, his usually tidy hair rumpled with sleep and his bright blue eyes still a little bleary. It was totally unfair that he would look so cute disheveled like that when she looked like Godzilla for about an hour after she woke up. “I’m catching up on the scores.”

When you grew up not only playing sports but also hanging out with guys who ate, drank, and breathed sports, there wasn’t much more that interested Emma. Except for maybe a beautifully designed website, well-constructed code, or the satisfaction of stealing millions of dollars from criminals who prided themselves on their ability to hide their laundered money. Okay, so maybe she’d be retiring that particular interest now....

From the corner of her eye, Emma couldn’t help but notice that Landon had sort of zoned out, his glassy-eyed expression dazed and blank as he stared at the TV. She wondered if it was
SportsCenter
in general that he found mind-numbing or if he was simply still tired. What did Landon McCabe like? Was he a football guy or was basketball more his style? Maybe he favored European sports like rugby or cricket. She found herself wanting to ask him, to dig around in his brain and learn as much as she could about him. Then, she reminded herself that he’d dismissed her with a verbal pat to the head last night, seemingly unaffected yet again by the moment they’d shared. What was it about McCabe that made him so damned unreadable? Emma could usually get a pretty good bead on people, men especially. One of the benefits of hanging with a testosterone-fueled posse. But Landon was a complete mystery. He ran hot and cold, his gaze fiery and full of passion one moment, icy and detached the next. She’d never met a guy who turned on and off as quickly as he did. Did he really want her in the way he’d said last night? Or had his words been nothing more than lip service?

Though, she hadn’t been disappointed in anything his lips had done to her last night. Those kisses made Emma breathless just thinking about them. There was no point in continuing to figure him out, she supposed. He’d made his feelings pretty clear. She had to accept that distance was the safer option at this point. No need to learn any more about Landon than she already knew. Because that was almost too much as it was. Like, for instance, the fact that he kissed like LeBron James dunked—transforming the simple act into a work of art, a display of skill and precision that boggled the mind.

Landon rubbed at one eye with the heel of his palm, a slow, tired motion that made him look more like a kid than a grown man. Emma’s heart clenched as she watched him and she forced her gaze back to the TV. “It didn’t really hit me until this morning that, as of right now, everyone thinks I’m dead. Is there any way I can call my friend Jeremy, and maybe Tyson, to let them know that I’m okay?”

Landon snapped to attention at her words, a deep crease digging into his forehead. “No.”

“No?” Emma repeated. “Just . . . no. This isn’t even open for discussion?”

“Nope,” Landon said.

He threw the blanket off his body and levered himself out of the chair with some effort. Good. He deserved every bit of discomfort he was feeling and then some. “That’s not fair, Landon. It’s cruel to put people through something like that when I don’t have to.”

“You should have thought about that before you stole millions of dollars from a bunch of ruthless arms dealers,” he quipped. “Now you have no choice but to see this through to the end.”

“I wouldn’t have had to steal anything if you’d done your job in the first place.” It was a low blow, but Emma didn’t care. Landon had hurt her with his casual dismissal, and she wanted him to hurt right back.

Landon’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “I hate to break it to you, Emma, but there’s no need for further investigation when a suspect confesses. Which your dad did willingly without coercion. I did my job. To the letter. Maybe you ought to remind yourself of that the next time you’re looking for someone to blame for your own rash behavior.”

Rash?
Rash?
If steam could have billowed from her ears, Emma would have been Old Faithful by now. There was nothing rash about six years’ worth of digging. And likewise, nothing rash about the fail-safes she’d constructed to bury that money so deep that Sousa would never get his hands on it. She’d practically put her life on hold to exonerate her dad. Oh, Emma knew that the pictures of her scattered all over the Internet told a different story, but it wasn’t her fault if Landon was too damned blind to see past the paparazzi’s interpretation of her life for what it really was.

Lonely
.

“Or maybe you’re using my rash behavior to assuage your own guilt over putting an innocent man in prison.” It was easier to be mad at Landon than sit around and wallow in self-pity. She could use anger. Sadness and hurt didn’t do anyone any good.

“Go ahead and think that if it’ll help you to sleep at night.”

Of all the lousy, jackassed—

A loud knock interrupted Emma’s train of thought, and Landon put a finger up to his lips, commanding her to silence. Her heart thundered in her ears and she held her breath as though the simple intake of air would give her away. Landon crept to the door and gently eased his gun from the holster that hung from his left shoulder. He reminded Emma of a hunting cat, all sleek lines and quiet grace. Slowly, he flipped the latch across the door before opening it a crack and peeking at whoever was on the other side.

Emma let out a breath when Landon’s stance relaxed and he swung open the lock to let Bill Crawford inside. “Good, you’re both up.” Crawford didn’t waste time with pleasantries as he took a place at the front of the room, effectively blocking out Gilberto Silva and the highlights from yesterday’s soccer game. Damn it. “We’ve come up with what we’re hoping is a passable cover story that will justify your presence, McCabe, and keep Emma in the game.”

“All right,” Landon replied. “What are we looking at?”

“First off, don’t be surprised to find out that an internal investigation into your actions and cases has been ongoing for the past several months. It took a bit to fabricate the records and evidence, but we managed to put something together. I have to say, you didn’t make it easy for us. You’re squeaky clean.”