wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her possessively against his side. “She’s been through a lot and come out stronger for it. One of my few success stories.” He bumped his fist on her chin.
There was way too much testosterone filling the air. What was it about a woman’s presence that switched men into a competitive mode? She was getting attention from everyone but the one man who mattered most to her, Austin.
“If Mark can handle this on his own, perhaps, Deirdre, you could show us your plans for the property?” Shawn asked.
“Actually, Jameson, I think we’ve concluded our business for today.” Austin checked his watch. “And as much as I’d like to see the rest of your beautiful estate, I have another meeting.”
He kept his eyes on Shawn, never looking at her.
Ignoring the pang in her chest, Deirdre forced a smile. “I’d love to show you around, Shawn.”
* * * *
Ayden downshifted the Saab, taking the curve of the coastal road with the tires squealing. He really wished he had the Jag, but he hadn’t wanted to be followed to the command post. He’d left the DEA rental at the condo, snuck out the backdoor and hightailed it through three yards before reaching the Saab parked at the twenty-four-hour 7-Eleven. He checked the rearview. He hadn’t seen another car in several miles.
He’d worked up a good head of steam. He wasn’t sure what was pissing him off more, the fact that he’d gotten what he wanted or the fact that he didn’t.
Deirdre had been everything he’d hoped for on Saturday night; an easy mark and a good fuck. No, make that a sexy woman with fire in her belly. Seeing her today had thrown him. It surprised him so much, he’d treated her like crap.
He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. Damn. When he’d taken her to the condo, all he’d wanted was loosen her tongue with alcohol, ply her for information on Jameson and screw her brains out.
Instead, she’d stunned him with the personal revelation about her father, and later after he’d … what had he done? Loved her? No, nothing that intimate—fucked her? No, not that crass … well, after they’d done whatever it was that had completely tilted his world on its axis, she’d lain in his arms telling him about her broken relationship. That night he’d wanted nothing more than to choke the living shit out of the guy who put all that hurt in those soulful brown eyes.
Those eyes that glazed over just before Deirdre … frig, he couldn’t go there.
Why was he so pissed off she’d run away into the night? Wasn’t it exactly what he’d wanted? He wasn’t sure why he wanted to prove to her not all men were lecherous, cheating cads. Or why it seemed to be bothering him now—that in reality, he wasn’t any better than the guy who walked out on Deirdre two months ago.
He was pretty sure it was relief that coursed through him when he woke to the sound of the Jeep’s engine revving its way out of the parking lot in the early morning hours on Sunday. He convinced himself the single night of unencumbered sex was exactly what he’d hoped for.
Everything had been fine, right up until he found that damn lacey thong tangled in the bedsheets yesterday morning. What a sap. He couldn’t even bring himself to wash it because it smelled of her. The gardenia perfume mixed with the musky scent of her sex. He’d carried it in his pocket like some lovesick teenager.
Even as he’d sat drinking beers with Ryan and Dave, planning out how they’d handle their meeting today and blindly watching the Sunday football games on the tube, all he could think about was sliding the lacey piece of material over Deirdre’s cute derriere and down those long, muscular legs. It didn’t take much to conjure up her body, soft and warm, twisting under his. He’d walked around with a hard-on most of yesterday.
Then she’d materialized in the garage, his fantasy in the flesh. She’d looked sexy as hell in that damp tank top and work boots.
There was way too much testosterone filling the air. What was it about a woman’s presence that switched men into a competitive mode? She was getting attention from everyone but the one man who mattered most to her, Austin.
“If Mark can handle this on his own, perhaps, Deirdre, you could show us your plans for the property?” Shawn asked.
“Actually, Jameson, I think we’ve concluded our business for today.” Austin checked his watch. “And as much as I’d like to see the rest of your beautiful estate, I have another meeting.”
He kept his eyes on Shawn, never looking at her.
Ignoring the pang in her chest, Deirdre forced a smile. “I’d love to show you around, Shawn.”
* * * *
Ayden downshifted the Saab, taking the curve of the coastal road with the tires squealing. He really wished he had the Jag, but he hadn’t wanted to be followed to the command post. He’d left the DEA rental at the condo, snuck out the backdoor and hightailed it through three yards before reaching the Saab parked at the twenty-four-hour 7-Eleven. He checked the rearview. He hadn’t seen another car in several miles.
He’d worked up a good head of steam. He wasn’t sure what was pissing him off more, the fact that he’d gotten what he wanted or the fact that he didn’t.
Deirdre had been everything he’d hoped for on Saturday night; an easy mark and a good fuck. No, make that a sexy woman with fire in her belly. Seeing her today had thrown him. It surprised him so much, he’d treated her like crap.
He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. Damn. When he’d taken her to the condo, all he’d wanted was loosen her tongue with alcohol, ply her for information on Jameson and screw her brains out.
Instead, she’d stunned him with the personal revelation about her father, and later after he’d … what had he done? Loved her? No, nothing that intimate—fucked her? No, not that crass … well, after they’d done whatever it was that had completely tilted his world on its axis, she’d lain in his arms telling him about her broken relationship. That night he’d wanted nothing more than to choke the living shit out of the guy who put all that hurt in those soulful brown eyes.
Those eyes that glazed over just before Deirdre … frig, he couldn’t go there.
Why was he so pissed off she’d run away into the night? Wasn’t it exactly what he’d wanted? He wasn’t sure why he wanted to prove to her not all men were lecherous, cheating cads. Or why it seemed to be bothering him now—that in reality, he wasn’t any better than the guy who walked out on Deirdre two months ago.
He was pretty sure it was relief that coursed through him when he woke to the sound of the Jeep’s engine revving its way out of the parking lot in the early morning hours on Sunday. He convinced himself the single night of unencumbered sex was exactly what he’d hoped for.
Everything had been fine, right up until he found that damn lacey thong tangled in the bedsheets yesterday morning. What a sap. He couldn’t even bring himself to wash it because it smelled of her. The gardenia perfume mixed with the musky scent of her sex. He’d carried it in his pocket like some lovesick teenager.
Even as he’d sat drinking beers with Ryan and Dave, planning out how they’d handle their meeting today and blindly watching the Sunday football games on the tube, all he could think about was sliding the lacey piece of material over Deirdre’s cute derriere and down those long, muscular legs. It didn’t take much to conjure up her body, soft and warm, twisting under his. He’d walked around with a hard-on most of yesterday.
Then she’d materialized in the garage, his fantasy in the flesh. She’d looked sexy as hell in that damp tank top and work boots.
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