As fine as he looked, the feel of his lips on her and the demand of his tongue sweeping into her mouth eclipsed that. It rendered her mute, maybe blind, possibly deaf.
Damn, he might be better than McDonald’s french fries.
Allie sighed into his mouth. Oh yeah, she was pretty much feeling all the tingles right now. She recognized the wet silk of his hair under her palms. How’d my hands get there? He licked along the inside of her bottom lip, and she hissed. Please let his tongue do that again. He kissed like it was his mission to consume her, to devour every lustful dream she’d ever had and give them back to her, making them reality.
He took her over. Her mind blanked but for the smell of minty evergreen and the heat of his mouth. Over and over he plunged into her, his tongue gentle and then intent, stroking and then licking. He sipped at her lips, and she felt the sting of his hand tangling in her damp hair. Even that small bite of pain was welcome.
He was all around her, and the car wasn’t big enough to hold the case she’d managed to develop for this man who called himself King. She should be put out at his daring. She should be confused at her own response. She was neither.
Yeah, she was screwed. Or maybe she’d just begun wishing she was.
King was there at her lips one second, and the next he was gone. Literally, out of the car like a shot, and all she could do was gape as he disappeared into the deluge that fell from the sky.
She leaned her head against the headrest and cursed herself. The rain seemed pretty determined to wash away everything in its path, and as she peered through the windshield, she wondered who the hell he was.
Because he damn sure knew how to shoot and evade. He had soldier written all over him, from the bottom of his Wellco combat boots to the hard glint in those amazing green eyes. His hands were big, strong, and callused. His breathing never changed, and his gaze never stopped roaming over his surroundings. He may not be dressed in camo, but Allie wasn’t a fool. That preternatural stillness and the cloak of wariness that rode the lines of his body were dead giveaways.
She’d been raised around his kind her entire life. Had been taught a thing or two by some of them. King had military, more specifically black ops, oozing from his pores.
A big, dark shape appeared through the rain and he was there, opening the door and getting back in. The interior of the car was freezing. Maybe she was in shock.
“It’s clear,” he said and tossed her a veiled look.
She looked back at him solemnly. “I have no idea who you are or what is ‘clear.’”
As she voiced her concern, a realization hit her in the solar plexus: She could be in even more danger with him than she’d been with the hijackers. Her dad would be disappointed. She should’ve throat-punched him the moment he kissed her.
Or, at the very least, immediately after. Because it’d been a hell of a kiss for sure.
King took a deep breath and put the car in gear. Ten minutes later, they were pulling onto a dirt road that led to a small clapboard dwelling. He stepped out of the car. She looked around, considered her options, and followed.
Between the car and the door, her clothes were soaked again.
He walked in first, pulled her in behind him, and left her there, heading to the back of the tiny house. She stood there, trembling, until he returned, bare-chested and offering her a towel. She took it and watched as he placed a bag on a small end table, then tugged on a black T-shirt. He pulled three different wicked-looking handguns out of the bag, chambering a round in each before he placed them carefully on the table. Her skin prickled as she watched him strap on a holster for each firearm, one at his back, one at his left side, and one at his ankle, before placing the firearms securely within them. He became a walking commando between one blink and the next.
He glanced at her and cocked an eyebrow. Allie swallowed her retort and used the towel to dry her hair before wrapping it around her head. Then she stood there shivering again. “Is there any heat?”
His gaze was a tactile stroke over her skin. Her nipples tightened and her core clenched. Her body was out of control.
“Seriously, I’m cold,” she said plaintively.
He walked to her then, and oh good God in heaven…his chest. She held up a hand to ward him off, going so far as to take a step backward. She met the door and knew she’d lose the fight if he came closer to her with…with that…with that chest… Even covered in cotton, it was dangerous to her sanity.
He continued to advance, his face a tight mask giving her no indication of his thoughts.
“Thank you for putting another shirt on.” She practically wheezed as she tried to pull oxygen into her lungs.
He smiled and her knees buckled. She would have hit the floor but there he was, pressing that broad expanse of tanned, smooth, now cotton-covered chest against her body. She was pinned to the door by his frame, and then he was pulling at her shirt, yanking it over her head, leaving her in nothing more than a soaking-wet bra.
King wrapped her arms around his torso, pushed her head to his chest, and stood there. It took seconds for his heat to begin soaking through her skin, warming places she’d never realized could be warmed and making her ache for all the things she’d never had. He smelled like everything a man was supposed to smell like.
“Shouldn’t kiss again,” she mumbled inanely into his breastbone.
His chest rose and fell repeatedly, but his hands tightened on her back. If she didn’t know better, she’d say they were caressing the bare skin there. When she realized hers were doing the same thing to his back, she dropped them.
“We don’t have much time, and this is the best way to warm you,” he replied finally. “There’re clean T-shirts in the other room, but I don’t want you going into shock right now, and the rain doesn’t help.”
“We shouldn’t kiss again,” she repeated. It was her mission in life to make sure he absolutely did not steal her mind with kisses anymore.
“You want me to agree to that?” he asked, but there was a hint of humor in his voice.
She nodded.
He lifted her chin with his forefinger. His gaze was intense, almost as if he were trying to ferret out all her secrets and leave no part of her untouched. “Well, I’m all about honesty, and I can honestly say that I cannot agree not to kiss you again, Allison ‘My Friends All Call Me Allie’ Redding.”
She bit her lip but couldn’t contain her smile. “Well, why not?”
The inside of the house was dark, and the rain outside afforded little light. His face was thrown in relief by shadows, but his eyes glittered dangerously.
“Because of this,” he said a second before he dove back into her.
His tongue twined with hers, and eventually his kiss moved to her neck, her collarbone, and back up again. Good God, he actually licked the tiny mole at the side of her mouth. And boy did she like that. This was beyond madness. Beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Then he lifted his head and stepped away.
Her harsh breathing was the only thing she could hear. King stepped out of the room. It should have been a blow to her ego—that he could walk away from that so easily, and she was left a hot mess. But something about the tense line of his shoulders told her he was as affected as she was.
He returned again and handed her a T-shirt similar to his. She pulled it over her head and wished fleetingly for a pair of dry pants.
“There’re no pants that will fit you, sorry,” he said, clearly reading her face even in the low light.
She’d never had much of a poker face. She shrugged and headed to the room’s only chair, falling into it and holding her head in her hands.
“I need to know who you are,” he said from across the room.
She pulled the towel off her head and began finger-combing her hair. She sighed. Loudly. “We’re back at this again?”
“Yes.”
She’d known him two hours, and already she recognized that as his implacable, we-ain’t-moving-’til-you-answer-me tone.
She rubbed her forehead and glanced at him. “I know we met under crazy circumstances, and I appreciate you getting me off that plane and everything—because come on, terrorists—but I’m not going to give you my entire life story. I mean, how can I trust you? Your name is King, for cripe’s sake.”
“What does my name have to do with anything?”
“See, it’s not really your name, though I know I gave you a hard time about it.” She smiled, attempting to placate him. “Sorry about that, by the way. But it’s not really your name. It’s what’s behind it.” She gestured to him. “It’s you.”
He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Me?”
“Yeah,” she said around a sigh. “You.” When he crossed his arms like that, it made her happy places stand up and want inappropriate things. Dirty things. Delightful things. With him.
“I’m not sure what you mean, and I feel like I’m pulling teeth.”
“Welcome to my world. Until you tell me who you are and how you just happened to be on my flight—you know, the one that was hijacked by Boko Haram terrorists—I’m not going to give you another tidbit of information. Not a single word.” She dropped the towel in her lap and crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking his action.
“They were looking for you. You’re lucky I was there.”
She shook her head. They had obviously been looking for her, which wasn’t good in any way. Didn’t mean she was going softly into that good night. “Not giving up anything until you do,” she reminded him.
He stilled, as if gathering himself, and she felt more than saw the change in him. Death. It whispered in the space between them. She’d only seen one other person go that still—her father.
“You’re a spook?” she asked and then clamped a hand over her mouth. She’d thought he was black ops, but maybe it was even worse.
He cocked his head, the tension dissipating with that single action. “No. But I’d be curious to know why that was your first thought, Ms. Redding.”
She just shook her head at him.
He held up a hand. “My name is King McNally.”
She tried not to let her jaw drop. It did anyway. “Your name is really King?”
He rolled his eyes and then smiled. Butterflies took flight in her stomach. Craziness.
“And?”
His brows lowered, and the smile was gone before she’d had time to appreciate it properly. “What do you mean ‘and’?”
“Why were you on the plane?”
He sighed and she wanted to smile. “Looking for someone.”
“And?”
“They have information I need.” He dropped that bomb but didn’t say anything else.
“You think I’m this person?”
He gave her a curt nod.
“You think I have information? Why would I have information for you? I hadn’t even laid eyes on you until about”—she glanced at her watch—“yep, two hours ago.”
Anger flushed his cheeks. She knew it was anger because it tainted the air, malevolent and aimed right at her. “Don’t screw with me. You carry information back and forth for your handler.”
Her bones froze. “My handler?”
“What is up with repeating every word I say?”
She couldn’t get past his “handler” comment. “I don’t have a handler. I don’t carry information. I’m not a courier. I volunteer for the Peace Corps. So whoever told you I carry information is dead wrong, Mr. McNally.”
“I don’t believe you, Ms. Redding. I saw you on that plane—watched you head-butt a man out cold and just keep moving. You kept your cool. You’re trained.”
“What you saw was luck. My daddy taught me a thing or two about taking care of myself. Besides, it got us off that plane. Now, I think it might be time for us to part ways,” she said as she stood.
He was in her face in a flash. “You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me who you are and why the terrorists on that plane wanted you.”
Fear trilled through Allie, as potent as the lust she’d experienced under his kiss. This man was hard, unrelenting. He was beyond her experience and, quite frankly, more than she’d ever wanted to handle. He had her lady parts and her brain at war.
Amazing kisser notwithstanding, he had just been crossed off her list. Allie had no idea why Boko Haram was looking for her, and she wasn’t sticking around to find out. Frankly, it made her heart seize even to contemplate the reasons. As for her identity, this man was better off not knowing who she was. Ever.
“Maybe whoever gave you the information that I was a courier talked to them too? It’s a small world in Spookville. Perhaps you should talk with your source,” she told him.
“I’m not a damn spook,” he replied.
“You know what? You don’t scare me. Lose the macho, mean routine, okay? Didn’t your mama ever teach you that you can catch more flies with honey?”
“My mama died shortly after I entered the world.”
His eyes widened, and she wondered if maybe he couldn’t believe he’d actually given her information.
“Well, um…damn… That’s rough. God, I’m sorry—”
King held up a hand to cut her off. “Appreciate it.”
His tone indicated it wasn’t exactly an open wound. Allie nodded. “Just so you know, for the length of our acquaintance, I promise not to make any ‘yo mama’ jokes.”
He made a sound halfway between a choke and a laugh. “I appreciate that too. Let’s get back on track, shall we? Who. Are. You?”
“I’m quickly becoming real close with my feelings of frustration. Do you have that effect on a lot of people, Mr. McNally? I told you… I’m Allison Redding. Now, are we finished here?” At his silence, she tried to step around him. “Good. Excuse me.”
He grabbed her arm but his touch, while limiting, was gentle and nonthreatening. His warmth seeped into her skin. It was…amazing. She closed her eyes and counted to ten.
“I—” he began before a shrill ring sounded. He reached for his pocket, though he maintained his hold on her.
Her skin burned where he touched it. She wanted him to let go. She might kiss him again, put him back on the list, if he kept touching her—and that was a big no-no.
King raised the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
His gaze went flat, and the heavily accented voice on the other end sounded pissed.
“I’ve got her,” King said, and there was that whisper of death again. An interminable minute passed and then, “You want her, huh?”
His gaze pinned her, hemming her into his world as surely as a chain-link fence with rolled barbed wire at the top. She wasn’t built for this. She just wanted to go home. Mani. Pedi. French fries.
“I’ll kill you, Kadar, and let the buzzards pick the flesh from your bones. You make a play. You go ahead and come after her. She’s mine now. And I’ll be waiting.” King disconnected, removed the battery, and placed both back in his pocket.
Long moments passed while he continued to hold her arm but said nothing. He simply stared at her, and she stared back.
He knew. He knew the truth. There wasn’t a hint on his face, nothing in the way he held her arm in the loose circle of his fingers. The knowledge was intangible, but she recognized the certainty of it.
“This changes things.” His voice was deep. Dark.
She had to get away from him. If he’d been misled into thinking she was some sort of courier, she was on somebody’s radar, and that wasn’t good. Being with this man could possibly be worse than if Boko Haram had managed to steal her off the plane.
Deny, deny, deny. Her father’s words rang in her ears before sinking like lead to the pit of her stomach. Nowhere is safe. Nobody is trustworthy.
Even as she heard her father, she knew she was caught.
“It changes nothing,” she replied in a whisper.
“You should have told me.”
She shook her head. “I’m a weight. Let me go. I can get myself out of Cameroon. Whatever you’re involved in, soldier, you don’t want any of what I’m bringing to the table.”
He remained a rock in front of her. His face was as blank as his tone. “So just let you go it alone?”
“I imagine if you like breathing, that’s probably your best bet.”
He stepped closer to her, and her eyes nearly crossed at his heat. “Are you threatening me?”
Her gaze lowered to his lips. French fries, french fries, french fries…lips. Damn. Back on the list. She licked her own suddenly, desperate for his taste. “No,” she said softly. “Not threatening. Making a statement though.”
“I enjoy breathing, but I’ve never been one to let a lady in distress stay in distress. It’s your lucky day, princess. I’m gonna get you to your daddy,” he said softly as he traced the lip she’d just licked.
“I’m not in distress,” she returned when his hand dropped. “And I don’t need to get to my daddy.”
“You aren’t in distress yet. But I’m sure it’s coming. I hate to keep bringing this up, but I wasn’t the only one after your ass.”
She cocked her head and refused to look away. “My ass can get itself home, Mr. McNally. I was doing fine before I met you, and I’m sure I’ll be fine once you’re gone.”
His green eyes burned. “But that’s the beauty of this, don’t you see?”
She shook her head, sadly afraid that she most assuredly did not see.
“I was looking for a courier, and I found you.”
Confusion beat a swift path through her mind. “I’m not what you wanted.”
He nodded. “See, now that couldn’t be further from the truth. Maybe not a courier, but something even better. You’re the director of the CIA’s daughter. And that makes you, Allie Redding née Broemig, the goddamn mother lode.”