She was so soft, and she tasted so damned good that he knew a moment’s regret. But this was a job, and he needed to remember that.
He pulled away, looking down into her slightly glazed eyes. They were a golden brown, somewhere between dark honey and amber, and he let his mouth quirk in a cool smile. “So are you ready to tell me what you’re hiding?”
It was as effective as throwing a bucket of cold water over her. She shoved him, hard, but he wasn’t about to go anywhere, and he gripped the counter on either side of her hips, imprisoning her there. “I don’t buy your innocent act, and I don’t believe a damned thing you’ve been saying. You’re holding something back, something important, and I intend to find out what it is.”
Fear flashed across those eyes, for just a moment, then was gone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t,” he said, and kissed her again.
She hit him then, but he caught her arms in his hands and held her still, and she wasn’t putting up that much of a fight. She had every reason to despise him, and yet he felt her soften beneath him, and he wondered just how far he could justify going. Her hands were pushing at him but her mouth was kissing him back, and he could have sunk into the heat of their kiss.
Instead, he stepped back, releasing her, and she rubbed her mouth across her arm. “It won’t be that easy,” he said. “You can’t wipe the taste of me away.”
She slid off the counter, and if she stumbled for a moment she regained her footing before he could reach out to steady her. He found himself wondering if it was his kisses that made her so shaky, or the barely healing wound on her leg.
“Do you have any idea how much I hate you?” she said in a small, sharp voice.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’re hiding, and then I’ll be glad to listen to a list of my failings as a human being.”
“I don’t think you are human.” And then she took a nervous step back from his predatory smile. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
She was trying not to cower. He suspected Jennifer Parker, Esquire, didn’t cower easily. He watched her steadily, saying nothing, knowing his very stillness could rattle her. He could have his answers with just the right amount of pain, and it wouldn’t take long, but for some reason he was loath to do it. It was a weakness of his—he didn’t like hurting women. Then again, he didn’t like hurting men; it was simply his job. When the task became pleasurable that would be the time to stop.
He waited, knowing she’d fill the uneasy silence. “I’m not hiding anything,” she said finally. “I have no idea why you think I am, but there’s nothing you can do to make me tell you something that doesn’t exist. I don’t know any more about human trafficking than you do.”
Any temporary softness vanished. She was lying to him, and part of him was ready to force the truth from her.
But as far as he could tell, there was no hurry. She might know more than she admitted to, but the people responsible for the trafficking weren’t fools, which was how they’d managed to elude the long reach of the Committee for years. There were signs, rumblings, that someone was still out there, and it would take time to hunt him down. There was no need to get that information right this minute. Not when he wasn’t sure his motivations weren’t a little too personal.
“Take your sandwich and go back to bed, Parker,” he said wearily. “I don’t like liars and I don’t like people who aid other criminals and still think they’re innocent.”
It was a shot in the dark and it hit its target. She looked as if she might throw up. It wasn’t her, then, but he’d never really thought it could be. She was covering up for someone, and with Remy searching her room and Jack looking into things from that angle, it wouldn’t take long to isolate the person she cared enough about to risk her career and possibly her life. A lover, maybe, though for some reason he disliked that possibility. She didn’t kiss like someone who had a lover.
“There’s no one . . .” she began again, but he turned his back on her.
“Get the fuck out of here, Parker, unless you want to continue what we started.”
She didn’t take the sandwich. He wasn’t going to take it up to her—he was on the razor’s edge of good behavior and it wouldn’t take much to tip him over. He simply covered it with a paper towel and headed back upstairs to the computer room. Remy should have had time to do a discreet toss of her room. It was time to find out what she’d been hiding.
There was no sign of Ryder when Jenny came downstairs the next morning. A man she didn’t know was stationed
in the front hallway, but he simply nodded to her as she headed back to the kitchen. It was empty, but someone had made a fresh pot of coffee, and she found bagels, pastries, and beignets under a domed lid.
The last thing she needed was a surfeit of sugar, but there were eggs in the massive refrigerator and frying pans by the stove. Half defiantly she made herself an omelet seasoned with filé powder and headed toward one of the stools set up at the counter, when the previous night came back full force. Jerking away, she moved to a far corner of the kitchen and propped herself against a row of cabinets. She didn’t want to think about those few minutes in the kitchen, with his hard body between her legs, his erection pressing against her. And it had been an erection—there was no doubt about that. What she couldn’t understand was why he had kissed her. No, scratch that, she knew why he’d kissed her. He’d done it simply to rattle her, to get her to tell him what he wanted to know. It hadn’t been done because he was attracted to her but because he’d figured out she was attracted to him. He’d used sex as a weapon, and it had worked. At least enough to demoralize her, enough to wipe away her defenses so that she made the colossal error of kissing him back, of putting her arms around his sleek, warm skin, of clinging to him.
That was probably why he was hard—not in reaction to her, but the sheer triumph of winning. She knew as well as anyone that he had no sexual interest in her; he simply made a judgment as to what would break her the quickest, and he’d been right. If he’d kept on she would have spread her legs for him and told him anything he wanted to know. He was that good.
And she was that pathetically needy. It disgusted her—she’d decided after her disastrous marriage that she was going to do without men for as long as she could stand it, and that time shouldn’t have been up. But it turned out she was only human after all, and the feel of a warm male body up against hers was irresistible, even if it was the very last man on Earth she should want.
Fortunately the moment he stepped back, sanity reared its ugly head. She shouldn’t want him—he frankly terrified her. He was a man who killed, and she’d lied to him and tricked him. There was no guarantee that his need to exact revenge would be limited to her baby brother.
She’d lose her license if it came out. That was the least of her worries. She did a lot of good, trying to make up for her family’s sins, but she could still accomplish a lot if she were disbarred. No, it was Billy she was afraid for, Billy with his innocent smile and his stupid impulsive mistakes. She knew that once he really understood what he’d been involved in he’d be as horrified as she was. He didn’t deserve to die for one mistake, but she had no doubt Ryder would kill him. Because no Gauthier brother would ever allow himself to be taken into custody—again with the stupid male pride.
Her omelet was beginning to taste like sawdust, but she dutifully finished it, following it up with the peanut butter sandwich that lay neatly covered on the countertop. She would need fuel if she were going to hold out against Ryder, whether she liked it or not.
The sooner she got away from him, the better. In fact, there was no real reason why she had to be there—they could hardly force her to stay. She had friends who would always offer her a bed, and she had plenty of disposable income to afford a hotel until she could find some kind of apartment, but it was dirty money, family money, and she didn’t want to touch it. At that point the very thought of putting her love and energy into another house was impossible.
When she’d first dressed she’d poked her head into Soledad’s room, hoping she’d come downstairs with her and serve as some kind of buffer between her and Ryder, but Soledad had simply mumbled sleepily and turned over in bed. Could she dare leave Soledad behind, or should she take her with her? She didn’t have the wherewithal to push a green card through, nor could she come up with the results the American Committee for the Preservation of Democracy could. But Ryder seemed to be the one man immune to Soledad’s charms, and she wouldn’t put it past him to use her as a way to get Jenny to tell him what he wanted to know.