Here Comes the Rainne Again (Invertary 6)

“You’re going too slow.” His voice was thick molasses.

He flicked the button of her jeans and lowered the zip. Breathe, she told herself as she started to feel lightheaded. Slowly, Alastair pushed her jeans over her hips. She felt him crouch behind her. His breath warm on the small of her back through the thin thermal vest she wore.

“Lift.” He clasped her ankle.

She lifted her foot so he could slip the leg of her jeans over it. The sock disappeared with it. His fingers ran up the soft arch of her foot before he placed it back on the floor.

“This one.” He repeated the process with her other leg.

Her jeans were off. She stood in her pink Hello Kitty underpants and matching thermal vest.

“More cats,” Alastair mumbled from his position crouched behind her.

Rainne felt weak enough to crumble. For an eternity they stayed like that. Alastair behind her. Rainne waiting. Hoping.

“Alastair?” she whispered.

He shot to his feet and busied himself with hanging her jeans over the back of the chair.

Rainne worked to breathe steadily. She didn’t have a clue what was going on. One minute he wanted to touch her, the next he didn’t. Her head was spinning from the confused mess of signals he was giving off. She turned towards him, prepared to demand an explanation when she spotted the glint of glass on his neck.

Rainne gasped as her hand flew to her mouth. “You have glass embedded in your skin!”

“It’s fine.” He didn’t look at her.

“It isn’t fine, you idiot.” Her eyes scanned over him. This time she didn’t let his abs distract her. There was a large bruise blossoming at the side of his ribs. “Are your ribs broken?” Her voice trembled.

“Bruised. Maybe cracked. I don’t think they’re broken. I can breathe well enough.”

Anger rushed through her. “And I suppose that’s fine too?”

“Aye.” He glared at her.

“Your wrist is swollen,” she said. “Were you going to mention that?”

“Nope.”

“No. Of course not. Because you might have to hand in your man card if you admitted you were hurt.”

To stop herself from hitting the infuriating man, she went to fetch the first-aid kit she’d tucked into her coat. He might be able to ignore his injuries in the hope they’d disappear, but Rainne couldn’t. She was going to take care of him if she had to kill him to do it.

9

* Megan *

Joe insisted on untying the prisoner and carrying him, fireman style, up several flights of stairs to the tower. Megan didn’t complain. She got to walk behind Joe and watch his manly show of strength as he took every step. Her prisoner stayed unconscious, which made her wonder just how hard her sister had hit the guy. Not that she cared either way. He was breathing, and that was all that counted.

When they reached the door to the master bedroom on the fourth floor of the tower, Joe banged it with the butt of his gun. Again—manly. Megan briefly wondered if all of Lake’s guys were born with alpha genes, or if there was a class somewhere they took where they learned how to behave more manly.

“What’s the password?” a female voice shouted—could have been any one of the retired women from Knit Or Die.

Joe hung his head for a second before answering. “There is no password. Let me in.”

“How do I know you aren’t compromised? Somebody might be holding you at gunpoint to make you say that.”

“Good point,” another woman shouted.

“It’s okay,” Megan shouted. “It’s me, Megan. Joe’s carrying the prisoner I captured.”