Hard Eight (Stephanie Plum 8)

He took a cookie off the plate on the floor. “Frozen?”

“Not anymore.”

“How'd it go at the track?”

“I ran into Eddie Abruzzi.”

“And?”

“We had words. I didn't find out as much as I'd hoped, but I'm convinced Evelyn has something he wants.”

“I know what it is,” Ranger said, eating his cookie.

I stared at him openmouthed. “What is it?”

He smiled. “How bad do you want to know?”

“Are we playing?”

He slowly shook his head no. “This isn't play.” He backed me against the wall, and he leaned into me. His leg slid between mine, his lips brushed lightly across my lips. “How bad do you want to know, Steph?” he asked again.

“Tell me.”

“It'll get added to the debt.”

Like I was going to worry about that now? I was in way over my credit limit weeks ago! “Are you going to tell me, or what?”

“Remember I told you Abruzzi is a war gainer? Well, he does more than game. He collects memorabilia. Old guns, army uniforms, military medals. And he doesn't just collect them. He wears them. Mostly when he games. Sometimes when he's with women, I'm told. Sometimes when he's settling a bad debt. Word on the street is that Abruzzi is missing a medal. Supposedly the medal belonged to Napoleon. The story being told is that Abruzzi tried to buy the medal, but the guy who owned it wouldn't sell it, so Abruzzi killed him and took the medal. Abruzzi kept the medal on his desk at his house. He wore it when he gamed. Believed it made him invincible.”

“And this is what Evelyn has? The medal?”

“That's what I hear.”

“How did she get it?”

“I don't know.”

He moved against me and desire skittered through my stomach and burned low in my belly. He was hard everywhere. His thigh, his gun . . . everything was hard.

He lowered his head and kissed my neck. He touched his tongue to the place he just kissed. And then he kissed it again. His hand slid under my T-shirt, his palm heating my skin, his fingers at the base of my breast.

“Pay-up time,” he said. “I'm collecting on the debt.”

I almost collapsed onto the floor.

He took my hand and tugged me toward the bedroom. “The movie,” I said. “The best part of the movie is coming up.” In all honesty, I couldn't remember a single thing about the movie. Not the name or anyone in it.

He was standing close, his face inches from mine, his hand at the back of my neck. “We're going to do this, babe,” he said. “It's going to be good.” And then he kissed me. The kiss deepened, became more demanding, more intimate.

I had my hands splayed over his chest, and I felt the toned muscle under my hands, felt his heart beating. So he has a heart, I thought. That's a good sign. He must be at least part human.

He broke from the kiss and pushed me into the bedroom. He kicked his boots off, dropped his gun belt, and he stripped. The light was low, but it was enough to see that what Ranger promised in SWAT clothes was kept when the clothes were shed. He was all firm muscle and smooth dark skin. His body was in perfect proportion. His eyes were intense and focused.

He peeled my clothes off and wrangled me onto the bed. And then suddenly he was inside me. He once told me that time spent with him would ruin me for all other men. When he said it, I thought it was an outrageous threat. I no longer thought it outrageous.

We lay together for a while when we were done. Finally he ran his hand the length of my body. “It's time,” he said.

“Now what?”