To the Limit (20 page)

"Yeah. Tiffany is definitely looking for love in all the wrong places."

Worry pinched Eve's brows even though she fired one of her zingers. "Could you throw in a few more clichés, do you think?"

He smiled. "If I put my mind to it. The fact that Tiffany is deep into the hard stuff," he continued without missing a beat, "is totally at odds with the nanny's take on her. Margaret is adamant that
her
Tiffany would never willingly sink that low. She's worried about her. Even more, she's afraid for her. Her old man should care about her half as much," he added, remembering the tears that had filled the older woman's eyes when she'd begged him to find Tiffany and get her help.

He drained his beer, then met Eve's gaze. At least curiosity now seemed to outweigh her suspicion.

"So, even though I told you from the beginning that I was worried about her, it took a talk with Margaret to make you come around."

"It helped," he agreed, rocking back on his chair, "but it was something else that brought me over."

Her gaze sharpened.

"Tiffany's horses," he supplied.

"What about them?"

"Margaret said Tiffany loves them like children. Felt about them the way her father should feel about her. Per Margaret, during all the time she spent with Tiffany a day didn't go by that she didn't go to see them or call the stables to check on them. Not a day," he restated for emphasis, "regardless of where she was."

"I know," Eve said. "I remember."

The look on her face told him that she already suspected what he was about to say.

"Margaret still had the phone number in her address book, so I called the stables from her apartment. They haven't heard from Tiffany in three weeks."

She drew in a deep breath. Let it out like she was very tired.

"And that's when it changed for me. Now I'm certain we're looking at a victim, not a runaway."

Even though she'd been pursuing the foul-play angle, Mac suspected that Eve had been holding out hope that Tiffany would just wander home on her own steam. His news had just shot a horse-sized hole in that hope.

"So. What now?"

"Now I figure two heads are better than one."

She didn't look like she was sure she liked that idea. Interesting. Once she'd asked for his help. Now that he was offering it, she seemed hesitant.

"What about Edwards? What about your pay?"

"You let me worry about that. Tiffany's the priority and we can find her faster together than we can apart. And fast may be all she's got going for her right now."

The waitress wandered over about that time, asked if they wanted another round. Without looking up, they both shook their heads.

And still, Eve hadn't indicated she wanted to team up.

"So... are we in this together from here on out or what?"

She hesitated and he could see by her closed-off body language that she was actually considering telling him no.

"OK, what, exactly, is the problem?"

She finally met his eyes. "That's just it. I don't want there to be any problems."

"Like?"

She stared at her empty glass. "Like I don't want you getting the idea that if I decide to work with you it means that I'm up for anything else."

Ah. There it was. He knew where this was heading. "Anything else? Like sex, you mean."

"Yeah. Like sex. Or sweet talk leading up to it or—" She lifted a hand, searching.

"Seduction?" he suggested, feeling ornery, and damned if her cheeks didn't turn red.

"I was going to say like side bets."

Like the one he'd suggested in Key West.

Interesting that she felt she had to level terms. It made him wonder if she wasn't thinking about sweet talk and sex and side bets just a little too much to make her comfortable.

Just thinking about her thinking about "it" turned him on like a strobe light.

"So. Just business."

She nodded but wouldn't look at him. "Just business."

Behind him, a roar rose from the bar area—apparently in response to something that had happened during the baseball game. He barely heard it. Instead, he took in those blue eyes that had grown flinty and tough; the lush mouth that protested just a little much to ring true; the set of her slender shoulders that said she was tooled for battle on this front. Eve, warrior princess, ready to defend womankind.

And he thought,
Fuck it.

If he was going to get shut down before he ever got out of the blocks, he at least wanted a taste of what she wasn't willing to share.

Since the first time he'd seen her at Club Asylum with her gun drawn, her expression murderous, and her schoolteacher mouth spewing four-letter words, he'd pretty much been in a perpetual state of rut.

He wanted this woman. Spitting fire and claws bared, restless beneath him and begging, submissive and on her knees in front of him, he didn't care how it went down, but he
was
going to have her—today, tomorrow, when this was over—and it was past time he laid it out on the table. Damn the scars. And damn her conditions.

"Fine. Just business," he said, "as soon as I get this out of my system."

And then he reached for her.

While she was still mired in surprise, he wrapped his fingers around the warm skin at her nape. The silk of her hair caught in his hand as he drew her toward him and slammed his mouth over hers.

And sank into pure unadulterated lust.

He wasn't a kid anymore. Neither was she. And he hadn't felt this much life in his cynical old bones since—hell, since he'd taken her into his mouth all those years ago.

He caught her so completely off guard she didn't have a chance to wedge her hands between them and shove him away. That didn't mean she didn't put up a fight.

She opened her mouth to rail at him. That worked out just fine. He slid his tongue past the seam of her open lips and tasted his fill. When she didn't bite him, he took it as a good sign. And when her hands rose to his shoulders and gripped as if to push him away before the rigid tension in her body let go with a soft moan, he embraced it as invitation.

He kicked back his chair and drew her with him to her feet, wrapping her flush against him. He needed to feel the lush heat of her breasts crushed against his chest. Needed to wedge his thigh between hers and press against her pubic bone and just wallow in the promise of her.

Jesus. She was as amazing as he remembered. And as wild. Her mouth as hot and wet and hungry. And as greedy as that other part of her he'd never forgotten. He lifted his head, changed the angle of the kiss, and took things to a whole other level.

When she made a little shivery sound in her throat, he gentled his hold, gave her hands room to roam—and immediately realized his mistake.

Her hot little fist wrapped around his balls and twisted.

"You just couldn't quit while you were ahead, could you?" she hissed against his mouth as he sucked in a breath and thought about begging.

All he could manage was a tortured, "Murppffhh," as he met her hard glare from less than an inch away.

The lady played hardball. And he was pretty damn certain he wasn't going to be able to let anyone play with
his
balls any time soon.

It was all he could do to keep on his feet. He could barely breathe. His ears started ringing—or was it a phone?

It rang again and mercifully, she let him go.

"Eve Garrett," he heard her say through a groundswell of relief and a surge of blood shooting back to his head.

"Ms. Hofsteader. Yes. Yes. Thank you so much for returning my call.

"What? ... Yes. I'm worried about her, too.... Absolutely, I can do that. Where? ... OK. Got it. I'm about a half hour from there. I'll see you soon."

Mac was still sucking air, his hands braced on the table, when her gaze met his, cool as frost, hard as ice.

"Don't play games with me, McClain. You'll lose. You want to do this? Then you do it my way. And that means that's the last time your tongue comes anywhere near my mouth. Understood?"

Since he wasn't sure he could speak yet, he took the low road and didn't even try.

"And so you know, if I didn't think Tiffany's life might be on the line here, I'd drop you like a bad habit. But the fact is, you're right. We can find her faster working together."

"Working,
McClain," she restated with emphasis. "Our association ends there."

He nodded, but as cognizant thought slowly returned along with blood flow, he recognized the truth. She was lying through her teeth.
No way in hell did their association end at work.
She hadn't damn near neutered him because she wanted him to stay away from her. She'd put the screws to him because she
wanted
him. Period. And she didn't know how else to defend against that want.

She'd been totally on board with that kiss. And despite the knifelike pain shooting through his equipment at the moment, one of these days he was going to spread her like butter, because the woman was toast.

"What?" She glared at him. "The king of the comebacks has nothing to say?"

"Ice," he managed in a strained voice. "I could probably use some ice."

Chapter 13

Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,
Eve thought
as she hailed a cab, then waited for McClain to limp carefully off the curb behind her. She scooted over to the far side of the backseat to make room for him, then scrabbled around in her purse, searching frantically for a bag of M&M's.

Swearing under her breath when she turned up empty, she dragged a hand through her hair. What had gotten into her? She'd let McClain kiss her. So what if she was still shaken from her scare at the subway? So what if McClain had also taken her by surprise? She could have had him on his knees and singing soprano long before she'd come to her senses and put an end to it.

Just because he'd grown into his shoulders and had the kind of rugged, lived-in face that prompted all kinds of questions about what experiences in his past had shaded his present, didn't mean he'd matured where it counted. He was still testosterone on a half shell, a hormone on the make. And she needed to stop getting all fluttery inside and out thinking about him.

Fluttery.

That soaked it. She had a job to do that did not include fantasizing about what it could have been like between them if he hadn't been such a first-class jerk years ago. What it could
be
like if he wasn't
still
such a jerk.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked over his shoulder when McClain had shut the door behind him.

Eve gave the cabdriver Katrina Hofsteader's SoHo address, then stared out the window at the traffic and the lights of the city and settled herself.

OK. She'd been curious about what it would be like to kiss McClain, she conceded, cutting herself a little slack. It'd been a long time since she'd experienced any man-woman chemistry. So long that she'd forgotten what it felt like when that chemistry was good.

Really,
really
good.

Beside her, McClain was slumped down low, his head lolling against the seat back.

"How's the knee?" she asked grudgingly.

He pushed out a pained laugh. "Not at the top of the agony chart at the moment."

All right. Maybe she owed him an apology. "OK. So I'm sorry."

"What? That my knee hurts less than my balls? Or that me and the boys are still in the same zip code?"

She turned toward him. His eyes were closed. His legs spread wide.

"That I overreacted."

He grunted. "This is a very enlightening moment for you, considering that you've been overreacting the last few days. Could it be we've actually had a breakthrough with your therapy?"

"That was Katrina Hofsteader on the phone," she said, ignoring his sarcasm.

His gaze shot to hers. 'Tiffany's friend from Germany, right?"

"Right. I took a chance she was in the city, left a message. Turns out she's just as worried about Tiffany as I am."