Sam was the shit when it came to seducing women. She could make a totally straight chick sit up and take notice. And give her more than a second thought.
His dark chocolate eyes gleamed with humor now. “Admittedly, Sam would be a capable teacher,” he admitted. “I rather assumed it wasn’t females you were into, though, considering the fact that she hadn’t managed to seduce you yet.”
There was the slightest hint of a question in his voice.
She gave a slow lift of her brows, playing with the braid hanging over her shoulder for a second before letting her gaze meet his again.
That knowing exasperation filled his expression again when it became apparent she wasn’t answering his question. Before he could say anything, though, the ringing of his cell phone drew his attention.
Checking the number, he glanced back at her. “If you’ll excuse me a moment,” he said, rising from his chair, “I need to take this.”
He disappeared through the door behind him without once ordering her to stay put.
She could just walk out and ride away if that was what she wanted to do. So why didn’t she?
Instead, she removed her jacket, laid it across the back of the couch close to her, and waited instead. She who hated waiting was waiting for a man who her instincts warned her was far more dangerous than he appeared.
She wasn’t certain how long he was gone, but it was long enough that Zoey ended up returning to the bike to pull a sketch pad free before returning to the plane. The need to draw wasn’t as imperative as it had been a year ago, but she had a sudden need to sketch Doogan. To catch the subtle expressions on his face before she forgot them. To catch the hint of humor in his eyes and the steely determination in his savage features.
Time passed quickly then. Too quickly.
Lost in the world she became immersed in while drawing, she wasn’t aware of the passing of time until the door opened and he returned.
“Sorry it took so long.” His expression was harder, his gaze chilly. “That had to be taken care of.”
Closing the sketch pad, she blinked up at him, taking a moment to process what he’d said.
“Did you get Eli shot at?” she asked, almost expecting an affirmative answer.
“Not hardly.” The chill in his eyes warmed.
“That’s good.” She laid the pad and pencil on the small table beside her before turning back to him. “I’ve become rather fond of him.”
The statement was actually true. Eli was like a younger Mackay, still fun-loving, not yet hardened or as stubborn as her brother and cousins.
“You’re not exactly what I expected,” he told her, making his way to the couch, where he took a seat with more than ample space between them. “Even six years ago. I have to admit, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be quite so adventurous.”
“And what did you expect?” Her heart was racing; warmth flushed through her, unbidden memories of the fantasy lover she’d created years ago flitting through her mind.
“I’ve met Eve and Piper,” he stated. “Your elder sister is actually very quiet, very introspective.”
“She’s a writer,” Zoey pointed out. “And I don’t think I appreciate your efforts to seduce her the night Brogan broke up that little date with her.”
He chuckled at that. “Had I wanted to seduce her, I wouldn’t have taken her to the Mackay restaurant, sweetie. I merely wanted to push Brogan’s possessiveness buttons.”
She shrugged at that. “I’m not revising my statement.”
“Piper’s rather quiet as well,” he stated then, as though the subject had never changed. “Though Lyrica is a bit more social, still.” His gaze flicked over her, the lust in his gaze becoming more apparent. “My reports say none of them are leather-wearing, Harley-riding hellions.”
“I’m a hellion?” She was rather pleased with the description. “Eli said I hadn’t yet been promoted from troublemaker. I’m glad to see he was wrong.”
“It’s only an initial upgrade,” he informed her warningly. “It could be revised at any time.” She nodded sagely as though well understanding his dilemma.
“Ah well, I’m certain at some point my abilities have been overexaggerated,” she agreed, though she couldn’t imagine when. “Rather than underexaggerated.” She gave him a quick, impertinent grin.
He didn’t reply, merely stared at her, that gleam of hunger deepening in his gaze.
She’d never known a time in her life when she’d responded to a man as she responded to this one. When her pulse raced, her heart beat so hard it made her breathing harder, faster. Or when the look of hunger in a man’s eyes had actually had her sex responding with slick readiness.
“Are you going to try to seduce me, Doogan?” she asked then, licking her dry lips quickly, her heart rate increasing further as his eyes followed the action. “I hear it’s not quite advisable to allow you to do so. Eli would probably have a stroke. He gets rather upset where you’re concerned.”
“Try?” His lips quirked as one arm stretched out along the back of the couch, ignoring her observation on the other man. “I rarely try to do anything, Zoey.”
Well now, wasn’t he extremely confident?
“Think it’s a sure thing, do you?” Clasping her hands lightly in her lap, she didn’t balk at holding his gaze.
Her heart was racing double time now. And when his gaze flicked to the vein at her neck, she knew he was aware of the excitement flooding her.
“I’m quite certain it’s a consideration on your part.” His voice lowered, becoming a dark, brooding sound that stroked over her senses and had the oddest sensation attacking the girl parts that had rarely roused in the past year.
“A consideration?” she mused, adopting a thoughtful expression. “For a man I’ve not yet been properly introduced to? One I’ve only heard is prone to get his agents shot at? One who asked my sister out after that totally romantic dance with me where you never said a word or kissed me good-bye? A glancing thought is as far as I would go, perhaps.”
He shifted closer. “I’m going to kiss you before you leave here tonight, Zoey Mackay. Then you can decide if you’re just considering me or not.”
It would be more than a consideration and she knew it.
“That would be rather rude, don’t you think?” she forced herself to point out. “We’re still at a first-name basis. I rarely allow such liberties so soon.”
His gaze went to her lips again while the hand resting on the back cushion moved to tug at several curls that escaped her braid.
“Chatham. Bromleah. Doogan. The Third.” He came closer with each word until his lips were poised over hers, so close.
Zoey felt hers part. Her breathing became short, ragged, but his wasn’t exactly calm either.
“Can I kiss you now, Zoey?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for permission.
His lips covered hers, took them, demanded her response and swept her into a storm she had never expected. A storm that crashed through her senses, pushed away barriers, and in a single moment, she feared, branded a hunger inside her she would never be rid of.
A hunger she wanted only to become more immersed in.
Wrapping her arms around his neck Zoey moaned into his kiss, swept away with such riotous pleasure that any thought of resisting him didn’t have a chance. He was heat and overwhelming pleasure. Seductive energy and dark forcefulness and she was loving every minute of it. Loving it so much that even as he eased back on the couch and came over her, one hand gripping her hip, his knee easing between her thighs, she only moaned with the rising sensations.
She’d never wanted a man like this. She’d never known such a hard rush of pure lust as she did now. That complete “do-him-now” feeling that tore through her senses and left no room for even a whisper of resistance.
“Zoey!” Eli’s panicked voice was a splash of reality washing over her. “Dammit. Dammit. I knew not to leave you with him! Where is your self-control?”
Doogan’s head lifted
and Zoey’s turned, her gaze finally focusing on Eli’s outraged expression.
“Eli, you’re definitely fired,” Doogan growled, lifting away from her.
“I think I better go.” Scooting back from him, she grabbed her jacket, jumped from the couch, and all but ran to the door. “I’ll wait for you outside, Eli. Hurry or I’m leaving without you.”
She would too. As soon as she dragged her senses back and managed to make the world level out around her again. Or perhaps she was the one who needed to level out.
Oh, God, what was she doing? Especially with that man. The one man she couldn’t have no matter how much she might want him. He was dangerous. Far too dangerous to her self-preservation. And she couldn’t forget it. Lovers became too intimate. They wanted to spend the night and all that crap. And she didn’t need the boss’s boss of a federal agency realizing that the woman he was sleeping with was having nightmares of killing a man no one had seen since the nightmares began.
Sleeping with Chatham Doogan would be disastrous. And she couldn’t ever let herself forget that.
THREE
Two Weeks Later
There were times in a man’s life that a woman had the power to simply steal his breath. Times when the past and the present converged, and he found himself staring at a future he could have had, if he’d been smart enough to take the right turn rather than the left.
Or so he’d been told.
He’d suspected the truth of it six years ago when he’d been unable to deny himself a dance with Zoey Mackay. Just that small amount of time when he could hold her against him, feel her warmth, sense the innocence he saw in her eyes and ache with regret.
He’d never actually believed it though until two weeks ago when he’d held Zoey against him and felt a hunger burning through him like he’d never experienced before. She had stolen his breath then, and tonight, she stole it again and for a second he wondered if he’d ever get it back.
It was an interesting reaction.
Every bone and muscle in his body tightened and all the blood pushing through his veins stilled for a single moment in time. And for one precious second, he felt the convergence of what had been¸ what was, and what could have been, all in a single instant with all the anger, regret, and grief that came with it.
That loss of breath occurred the moment he saw her striding through the crowd, a smile on her face, her heavily lashed eyes bright and so filled with excitement. All those lush, lovely curls she possessed were once again tamed in a thick, heavy braid, leather cord binding it from her nape to where it ended just between her shoulder blades. There was no hint of the hand-tempting spirals that normally surrounded her head and fell to below her shoulders in wild abandon.
The curls might have been tamed, but the woman wasn’t. As though binding her hair had caused some detour in the abandon that filled them, all that electric energy filled the woman instead.
Enough energy to singe a man’s soul if he wasn’t careful.
She strode to the graded track as Eli pushed a stripped-down dirt bike through a break in the stacked bales of hay surrounding it at the starting line. Another rider eased his bike alongside it, motor gunning, the young male riding it shooting Zoey a smug grin.
Nearing Eli, Zoey pulled the full-face helmet she carried over her head, securing the strap under her chin as the bystanders gathered in the clearing moved as close to the bales of hay as possible to watch the coming race.
The air of expectation and pulsing excitement that hadn’t been there before Zoey’s arrival was definitely there now. All eyes were on her, watching as she straddled the powerful little bike and brought it rumbling to life.
“She’s gonna beat him one of these days.” A young woman spoke behind Doogan. “Maybe not tonight, though. Not until she finds someone with a little less fear to work on her bike.”
“That Grant boy’s gonna keep her from winning,” a man remarked in reply. “He’s too scared of the Mackays to ensure she has enough power . . .”
“Billy says her bike is off balance. Eli won’t balance it. He’s tried to tell her . . .” the woman remarked, her voice knowing and a bit irate.
The couple moved past him, eager to get to the edge of the barrier to watch the race, their conversation drifting away.
Doogan crossed his arms over his chest, remaining where he was, frowning as he listened to Zoey’s bike revving, heard the distinctive sound, subtle though it was, that indicated a lack of necessary power, just as the couple had observed.
Narrowing his gaze on the stripped-down motorbike Zoey straddled, he could see where it would be off balance as well. And Elijah Grant had been working on that cycle? The young man knew motors and vehicles like most men knew a woman’s body. Eli was much better with motors than what Doogan could hear in the sound of the bike Zoey was getting ready to race.
Eli was deliberately keeping her from attaining the ratio between balance and power she needed to race the rough, makeshift oval track, and that didn’t make sense. It was definitely something he hadn’t told Doogan about.
There was no way she could win against the other rider. It wasn’t possible. The male racer knew it too. Doogan could see it in the young man’s confident expression and gloating smile.
A slender young woman dressed in cutoff denims that nearly showed the cheeks of her ass and a too-snug red bikini top moved to the side of the track, a white handkerchief uplifted as she took a deliberately seductive pose.
The two motors revved, riders leaning forward, one leg braced on the track.
The young woman holding the flag gave a little wiggle, and the motors revved harder. When the white handkerchief went down they shot from the starting line. Zoey took the lead for a moment only. Half the track, then the other rider edged past with less than half a cycle lead. Four circles of the track later, going into the final lap, in the first of two turns, Zoey leaned into the turn, fighting to find more power, for the impetus to force her ride into the lead, but the lack of proper balance and power was her downfall.
He lost his breath again; of course, this time he was certain it had something to do with watching the little hellion wipe out as she took the sharp curve of the track. It was a laughable excuse for a raceway, but the sight of her losing control and plowing into the bales of hay stacked for just such an occurrence wasn’t in the least amusing.
The crowd of onlookers gasped, no doubt aware every damned one of them would face her brother Dawg Mackay’s wrath if the unthinkable happened. Or, if he or one of his cousins caught so much as a whisper of her weekend activities among their group and they hadn’t been told, hell would explode over them.
Highly protective and all too aware of the dangers that could strike at his family at any given moment, Dawg Mackay, the eldest of the Mackay cousins, was known to become rabid where the females of his family were concerned. Especially in the case of his daughter, his nieces, or his baby sister, Zoey.
In Zoey’s case it appeared he had more than one reason to foam at the mouth. She possessed more than her fair share of Mackay kamikaze traits, if this race was any indication. What else did the little spitfire get into that she was hiding from her family? For a moment the knowledge that it could be damned near anything that involved an air of danger had his teeth clenching in concern. The fact that Eli was supposed to be watching her back through her adventures and keeping Doogan informed of them indicated that the young agent was holding quite a bit back. For this alone, Doogan was about to become Eli’s problem.
Jumping to her feet, Zoey jerked the helmet from her head. Snarling, she kicked at the downed cycle with the toe of her heavy riding boot, cursing worse than any sailor he knew if the words her lips were forming were any indication. Disgust curled the pillowy curves and tightened her delicate features as three young men ran to her in case help was needed. She didn’t appear to need any help, though. At least, not in the kicking-cursing activity she was currently involved in.
Flipping the fingers of one hand toward t
he ride, she ignored their laughing comments. Stalking away, she left them to collect the bike while she made her way to the edge of the raceway, where Doogan stood, silently watching her.
The winner of that particular little race met her at the finish line, several feet from where Doogan stood, a smile curling his lips as he brushed the dust from his leather riding chaps and jacket.
“Girl, I told you that cycle wasn’t balanced right.” The rider laughed in pleased satisfaction and held his hand out, palm up. “Pay up, sweet thing. Man, I just love taking a Mackay’s money.”
Zoey pulled a wad of bills from her snug jeans, slapped them into his palm, and bared her teeth at him in feminine irritation.
“I can help you, sugar.” The rider smiled playfully at the look. “For the right price.”
“Keep dreaming, Billy Ray,” she suggested with a little glare. “Your dreams are the only place where you’ll touch my bike. Or anything else of mine.”
It was said with grumpy humor, though. She was pissed at the bike, not the winner.
Billy laughed at the response. “Taking your money’s good too, girl. Give me a call, though if you want some help. I think Eli’s a little too spooked to give his best to it.”
Striding away, Billy Ray moved back to his own bike, where several other men stood waiting.
Propping her hands on her slender hips, Zoey lowered her head and shook it in an air of resigned frustration before turning and facing Eli as he moved to her hesitantly. Doogan could have told Eli he gave himself away with the very attitude he was displaying.
“Eli, you and I are going to talk,” she informed him, knowledge and barely hidden anger resounding in the low tone of her voice. “A very serious, perhaps painful talk.”
“You’re blaming me?” Eli’s expression was surprised; his gaze hardly made it, though. His eyes couldn’t lie with his face quite yet.