The Lady Vanishes (13 page)

“Oh—” The woman snapped her mouth shut. “I simply meant . . .” she trailed off.

“Dr. Burke’s father was Carter Burke,” Dr. Jensen explained, which Milton already knew, but he hadn’t considered that it caused her trouble at work, even now, so many years after the man had disappeared. He wondered how far his friend Burris had gotten tracking the bastard down. He hadn’t found him yet, or Milton would have heard something.

“I think she’s wonderful,” he said meaningfully, and the three people in front of him nodded automatically, like they were agreeing with a crazy person.

Milton realized he was glaring and took a deep breath. “I have to go,” he said abruptly. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch regarding the plans.”

He left without waiting for a response, striding swiftly down the hall past the reception area and out the double doors. He took a deep, deep breath of cold air before opening the door to the limo. Now he was going to have to convince her to help even though she was pissed—a prospect he found himself oddly looking forward to.

AT THE END OF HER SHIFT,
twelve hours after she’d gotten to work, Regina slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked outside to where she’d left her bike. She’d put the light in her bag to attach to the bike later, but she’d drawn on her new gloves, flexing her fingers in delight at the fit and warmth. Milton couldn’t have picked a better gift.

The bike area was covered by a small awning and a streetlight shined down on the metal structure where she’d left her bike parked and secured that morning, highlighting a circle of snow in an orange glow.

It wasn’t there.

Milton Shaw’s limo was there, however, pulled up to the curb with the engine running. The back door opened and Milton Shaw stepped out, still in his suit from when she’d seen him in the hallway earlier.

“Don’t you ever give up?” Regina asked, too weary to put any heat in her tone. Not to mention that she was kind of getting used to him. Like a stray dog that just kept showing up at the house. Except that he was a sexy stray, and he made her want to do bad things.

“On occasion,” he said simply, “but not on something I really want.”

“My bike was locked,” she pointed out, though she wasn’t sure why she bothered. She imagined he could pick all manner of locks.

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it’s snowing.” He looked up to indicate the snowflakes that were drifting onto his hair and shoulders. “And it’s dark.”

He looked magical, standing there with snow gathering in his dark hair. He looked as if he would stubbornly wait there all night if that was what it took to get her to ride home with him.

“I can take care of myself,” Regina muttered.

“Let me give you a ride,” he insisted, and Regina chided herself for the naughty, naughty thought that drifted through her mind.

“I’ve been in your limo. I know exactly what kind of ride we’re talking about.”

He grinned, but managed to straighten his face before she threw her bike helmet at him. “I’m sorry about earlier. I meant to talk to you about the benefit at lunch, but I was . . . distracted.”

Thinking about you naked,
Regina inferred, catching the way his eyes slid down the slick, tight material of the biking pants she wore, his eyes filled with heat. She couldn’t blame him; she couldn’t quite keep her eyes off him, either. He was gorgeous, standing there in a fedora like someone out of
Casablanca
, seemingly untouched by the cold while she was freezing. The interior of the limo looked heavenly, and he’d taken her bike. She didn’t like being manipulated, but she was too cold to care at the moment.
Lie,
her conscience yelled at her.

“Fine,” she muttered, “let’s do this.” She stalked over to him as best she could, her shoes crunching in the snow. “This doesn’t mean anything, understand. I’m just cold and had a shitty day.”

He nodded, but a small smile quirked the corner of his mouth.

“I understand,” he acknowledged and gestured for her to precede him into the limo.

She did, unslinging her backpack and climbing inside, aware as she did that he had an excellent view of her ass in the tight, shiny material she wore to ride. She was playing with fire here. After the last time, she couldn’t get in this limo without thinking of sex, of him touching her.

She took a seat as far away as she could, not wanting to tempt him—or herself—but as soon as he’d climbed inside and shut the door, he moved so that he was sitting next to her, heat radiating from him in waves.

Scooting away would seem childish, so Regina held her ground.

“You’re in my space,” she pointed out acerbically.

“I know,” he agreed. “I like it.”

She sighed. The limo pulled smoothly away from the curb, and Regina swayed, her shoulder brushing against his.

She straightened immediately, but he noticed and looked down at her, his blue eyes startlingly bright above his bold nose.

“Let me explain my idea for the benefit,” he told her. “A magic show for the kids, to raise money and to let them have a little fun.”

“A magic show.”

“Yes, we’ve done them before. Though don’t worry, the hospital has pretty strict rules about fire around the oxygen tanks.”

“I imagine,” she murmured. “This isn’t some stunt to get attention for yourself, is it?”

She regretted it the moment she said it, though part of her did wonder if it were true. He looked surprised, and . . . was that hurt?

“No.” He shook his head and looked away from her. “Though I thought I could use it to force you to spend time with me.”

“Force me?”

He looked down at her. “Well, I was hoping you’d just agree to go out with me, but I was going to ask you first.” He’d leaned down a little, so that his mouth was closer to her ear.

“How nice of you.”

“So, will you?”

“Help you with the magic show?” Regina felt the need to clarify. For a moment she’d thought they were talking about something else.

“Yeah.” He had that small half smile on his face again, his eyes fixed on her mouth.

Regina shook her head. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You don’t even know what I want your help with.”

He was closer still, and Regina realized that she’d lifted her face, her upper body drifting even closer to him, her breath mingling with his.

“I’m betting it involves me in a leotard—” she began, and he kissed her, sliding his hands deep into her hair, disturbing her bun, before they slid down her back.

His mouth was hard and firm on her lips, and just as delicious as she remembered. His teeth nipped at her lower lip and she gasped, sliding her own hands into his thick black curls.

He shifted, putting her beneath him, and caught her wrists in his hands, drawing her arms above her head.

“I want you. God, I want you,” he growled. “I want you any way I can get you.”

His fingers stroked her wrists, soothing her even as she felt something twine around them.

Suddenly his hands were gone, but she was secured with rope to something behind her, a metal ring of some kind. She quivered, knowing that she should be wary at least, but instead that wild, reckless part of her reared up and said,
Hell yeah.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his hands poised just above the collar of her shirt. “I want to touch you. My hands itch from wanting to touch you.”

He was rubbing his fingers together, as if he’d meant that literally, as if he couldn’t wait to feel her skin with his fingers. Regina arched upward in answer, feeling the tension in her arms where she was tied, smelling the leather as her body warmed the seat beneath her. She trembled, vibrating with arousal and something like fury. She didn’t like feeling out of control, but she was, her body demanding something that her mind rejected, at least consciously.

“Touch me, then,” she agreed, and he did, stroking gentle fingers beneath the collar of her shirt, running them along her collarbones.

“Soft,” he said in a guttural tone, and his nostrils flared with every deep breath.

Regina arched, pushing her breasts toward him and tightening her thighs around his hips. He was withholding himself, not letting her grind against him, and Regina felt an almost painful need. She needed him to do something.

“Ahhh,” she gasped as he molded his hands to her breasts, cupping them through her shirt and bra before squeezing gently. Regina felt an answering throb between her legs, and her hips jerked upward.

He laughed. “You’re so fucking delicious. I have to turn you over.”

Regina wanted to protest, but he’d already taken action. His lithe, nimble body gripped her knees as he levered himself away. With effortless strength, he flipped her, and the rope around her wrists, though not uncomfortable, tightened fractionally as it twisted.

Suddenly her face was pressed into the damp leather of the seat, and she breathed in the hot, humid air of her own desperate pants. Her hair, which had been pulled back, loosened, and she felt his hands running through it, massaging her scalp with long slow strokes that made her moan.

Moving slowly, his hands slid to her neck, into the crevice between her upraised shoulder and neck and then down her shoulder blades. Regina arched her behind toward him involuntarily, letting the pleasure flow and shudder through her.
Oh, fuck yes.
This man might be crazy, but he knew how to touch a woman, how to let the anticipation build and burrow.

His hands fell away when she moved, and Regina knew, she just knew that he was looking at her. She wiggled—just barely—just enough to be noticed by someone who was really paying attention. He gave a rusty chuckle that sounded choked.

“I like watching your ass when you march along in your scrubs,” he told her, catching the cheeks of her buttocks in his hands and squeezing gently. “The sight of it makes me want to chase you down and push you in a closet so I can just squeeze it and hold you to me.”

His thumb ran along the seam of her workout pants and spread her just enough to make her ass tighten reflexively.

She gasped and he did it again, groaning himself now. Sliding his hands to the back of her thighs, he brought his hips forward so that the bulge between his legs pressed against her through her clothes.

Yes, God yes, that was what she wanted—that massive cock inside her, thrusting into her, making her forget her responsibilities, her reason, making her forget everything except the slide and rub of him inside her.

“God. I’m going to cry this feels so good,” he groaned. “I can smell you. I want to pull your pants down and fuck you here, but I’m not going to. You know why?”

Regina writhed back against him but had enough presence of mind to say, “Because I won’t let you?”

He laughed. “I think you’re considering it. But I’m not going to until you agree to go out with me.”

Suddenly her hands were released.

He wasn’t going to fuck her until she agreed to go out with him? As though she were going to beg him. Regina whirled around on the seat as the limo came to a stop. She was breathing hard, her heart racing. With a cry of rage, she slugged him in the shoulder.

“Ugh. Let me out.” She scrambled to the door and opened it, half stumbling in her haste.

He was messing with her position at the hospital and he was an asshole. She grabbed her backpack and helmet.

“Get lost, Mr. Shaw.”

She stepped onto the slush-covered sidewalk, careful not to fall as she tugged her backpack behind her. The entrance to her loft apartment was a nondescript door with a keypad that opened to a staircase.

She punched the numbers in quickly, her breath coming in painful gasps.

She heard the crunch of footsteps on the snow behind her as she opened the door, but she didn’t hesitate, opening the door before he could catch her. She shut it behind her and leaned against it, gasping.

“I didn’t want to take you unless you were sure,” she heard him say through the door.

Regina closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door. Who was she mad at? Him? Herself?

“Forget it,” she told him.
Just forget it.
She was better off, right here, alone, not writhing on the leather seat of a limo.

“I can’t. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”

“Too bad,” she told him stubbornly, and marched up the steps toward her apartment, vaguely aware that something was wrong.

She didn’t figure it out until she’d reached the top, unlocked the door to her apartment, and set down her backpack and helmet. She felt loose somehow, and her nipples, taut since her activities in the car, were rubbing against the fabric of her shirt.

She clutched her breasts with both hands. Her bra was gone.

“I’ll be damned,” she said, outraged.

Celeste, a half-pint of ice cream in hand, came in the living room at that point, dressed in pajama bottoms and one of Regina’s old Harvard sweatshirts.

“Wow,” she said around a mouthful of ice cream, pointing the spoon in Regina’s direction. “You really do need to get laid if you’re feeling yourself up in the entryway.”

“Shut up, Celeste,” Regina muttered. She left her things where they were and marched over to her sister, taking the ice cream out of her hands. “I need this more than you do,” she muttered, and headed for her room.