Killer Countdown (Man on a Mission 6)

“How about you? Who was your childhood hero?”

He hesitated. “Didn’t have one.”

She cocked her head to one side and considered him. “Now you see, you shouldn’t have hesitated before you answered. That gave you away.” Her eyes held understanding. “You had a hero. Who?”

There was just a hint of coaxing in her voice, and Shane wasn’t proof against it. “George Bailey.”

“It’s a Wonderful Life?” she asked. “That George Bailey?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t volunteer anything more, but somehow Carly knew.

“Because he made a difference,” she said softly, her eyes glistening with tears she blinked back. “Because he was an everyday hero.”

She made a little hiccupping sound. “Oh, Shane.” Her gaze met his, and there was something in those tear-damp blue eyes that made him feel invincible. As if he could accomplish anything. As if he were her hero. “I—” She stopped, swallowed hard, then said, “I owe you another apology.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”

He stared at her, perplexed. “Why can’t you?”

“I’m too ashamed,” she admitted finally, her voice very low.

Something dinged from the direction of the kitchen, and Carly jumped up. “Dinner’s ready.” She practically ran from the room.

Shane went after her, and caught her before she’d gone ten steps. He grasped her arm and swung her around to face him. “Carly.”

Then he was kissing her because he couldn’t not kiss her. Because the hard hot knot of need that gripped him suddenly had to find release somehow, release that could only be found in Carly’s arms. And she was kissing him back, her body plastered against his as if she wanted to crawl inside his skin to get closer.

He tried to lift her up so she could straddle him, but she made the little strangled gurgle of laughter deep in her throat that he loved, and said, “I can’t. My skirt’s too tight.”

He reached behind her and made quick work of the zipper, sliding the skirt over her hips until she could wriggle free. She was already unbuttoning her black blazer, which she shrugged off and dropped to the floor. Leaving her standing there wearing a semi-sheer pale blue blouse—through which he could see the outline of her bra and a hint of cleavage—a black-and-red scarf, pantyhose and the tiniest scrap of satin and lace. All of which he wanted to tear off.

“One of us is overdressed,” she said with fake solemnity, and Shane realized this time it was him. He stripped in nothing flat, watching as Carly did the same. She had no false modesty—and he loved that about her. She knew what she looked like without clothes and was proud of how she’d kept herself in shape. Not that Shane would have cared one way or the other—a few pounds here or there wouldn’t have made a damned bit of difference to the desire that raged through him. He just wanted in.

“Bedroom,” he managed to say when Carly placed her hands on his shoulders and hopped as he lifted her naked body to his. “Condom.”

Those were the last words he spoke...until he moaned her name at the end.

Chapter 17

The pot roast was cold and dry by the time they made it back into the kitchen, but Carly added a little water and put the box back into the microwave for a couple of minutes. “It won’t be gourmet, but it should be edible,” she told Shane. “Wine will help.”

She went to the pantry and came back with another bottle of wine, a merlot this time—Tire Pé Diem. She removed the cork and opened the microwave, splashed a little of the wine over the meat, then restarted the microwave. She turned and caught Shane watching her, an amused smile on his face. “What?”

“Cook much?”

She shook her head. “But I do know how to pair wine with food. And I know how to add a little zest to stuff from the freezer. My mom taught me the basics of cooking years ago, but I never was all that interested. Jack was—” She cut off what she had been about to say, and turned away to grab wineglasses from the cabinet.

Shane came up behind her and put his hands on her arms. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”