Thanks so much for your reviews, they mean so much! The story is complete and as I polish the chapters I'll post them, probably one every other day or so.
PREVIOUSLY:
He was mouth-wateringly sexy, strong, brave, smart … and in the past few years he'd been in turns her mentor, her boss, her friend, and on a few spectacular occasions, her lover. Now she had no idea what they were.
Chapter Two
Steph let out the pent-up breath she'd been holding and tried to look normal. As if being handcuffed in nothing but a slipping towel was anywhere close. But she couldn't pull it off, so she sucked in a breath and went for calm, cool and collected, or at least the appearance of.
And reminded herself that as far as the worse case scenario went, this wasn't it. Close, but not quite. After all, she hadn't been raped, tortured or killed before the goons had left her, right? She was still breathing, which was a good thing, so she kept that in front of her.
Ranger gave a slight headshake, like how does this always happen to you?
She had no idea.
The fading light fell over him favorably, but any light fell over the man favorably. Then he flipped on the switch and the fluorescent bulbs had her blinking like an owl.
He didn't speak, and anything she would have had to say would start with "this isn't my bad…"
But it was.
Ranger moved closer, his eyes roaming over her as if checking for injuries. Which meant it was okay for her eyes to roam over him, which they did hungrily.
Hello, it'd been nearly two months.
Two months since he'd left the country saying he'd be in touch.
But he hadn't.
And she'd gotten over him.
Okay, she hadn't. Who could? Ranger was not easy to get over. He was a heart-stopper from the inside out, and the out was pretty amazing. Of Cuban-American descent, he had dark skin, dark eyes.
Dark life.
Sometimes his eyes would warm at the sight of her, and sometimes, if he was feeling generous, they'd would reveal what he was thinking – especially when it was sexual in nature – but mostly he revealed nothing at all. He had his impenetrable face on now, allowing only his tough competence to show as he moved in closer to prop up the wall with a shoulder, his arms crossed casually over his chest. A deceptively relaxed pose. "Morelli?"
And here was the dilemma. If she admitted it hadn't been Joe to tie her up, that she'd gotten stupid on a job, he'd put some men on her and go take care of the problem of the goons for her.
She wanted to do that herself.
And then there was the more complicated issue. Ranger was a self proclaimed opportunist. He was attracted to her and God knew, she was attracted to them.
Their one night was still burned in her brain, the highlight of her entire life.
She'd fallen in love with him that night.
But Ranger's love came with conditions, a non-relationship clause being the biggest one.
And she was done playing. She wanted the real deal. It didn't have to include a ring but the menu did have to have monogamy and respect and mutual love.
No less.
If she took less, he'd destroy her. She knew it. He knew it.
Hence the healthy amount of distance they'd given each other. "Not Morelli," she said. "He's … out of the picture."
He lifted a disbelieving brow but relaxed. It was a marginal lessoning of the tension in his shoulders that no one else would have noticed, but she'd known him for a very long time and could read his body like a book.
"If there's no Morelli, what's this?" He gestured with a jerk of his chin to the way she was cuffed to the rack. "An early Christmas present?"
"Ha ha," she said, and jangled the cuff. "A little help? And what are you doing here anyway?"
He took his gaze on another slow roll up her body, starting at her bare feet, past her legs, which she'd thankfully shaved- No. Just because he, and he alone, could drive her to the edge of sanity with a debilitating combination of love and lust and like and more lust, she did not care if her legs were shaved for him.
His gaze continued on its tour, landing on the edge of the towel that was only an inch south of her crotch. He looked at her breasts, which were spilling over the edge of the slipping towel, then her throat, and finally, her face, his own impassive.
She couldn't blame him there. She'd taken that single, horrified glance in the mirror. She knew her shoulder length curly hair had long ago rioted, resembling an explosion in a mattress factory. Just as she knew that she looked like a ghost without blush and lip color. She was just surprised he hadn't gone running for the hills.
But then again, nothing scared Ranger. He stood there in his usual SWAT black, his cargoes and t-shirt perfectly fitted to that mouth-watering body, looking like sin personified. "Let's start with you," he said. "What are you doing here, like this?"
Good question, she thought, and since she had no intention of telling him the truth, that she was a complete idiot, she racked her brain for a good excuse. "Who, me? Just . . . hanging." She added a smile, and hoped he bought it. "Needed a weekend off, is all."
But he'd never bought the bullshit she'd been able to feed just about anyone else. He stepped closer, a mixed blessing for her. She felt a huge relief, because though he was a lot of things including an opportunist, he was incapable of leaving her here trapped and helpless. Or so she hoped.
But mixed in with her relief was a healthy dose of panic because now she could see him up close and personal; the dark day's growth on his jaw, the way his eyes were like two fathomless pools she could drown in, his tight jaw . . . and then there was his scent, that panty-melting unique scent of warm Bulgari, which made her want to press her nose to his throat and inhale.
Pathetic.
Once upon a time she'd thought they could have something, but he'd made it clear his life didn't lend itself to relationships. He ran a security firm and near as she could tell, contracted himself out to the government for work related to his special ops days when he was an Army Ranger.
His life wasn't his own, and she got that.
She'd told herself to mourn what couldn't be and move on. And she had mourned him, like a missing limb. Still did, and if he looked close enough he'd see it.
And that would be the worst possible thing. If he thought that he was hurting her, he'd vanish from her life.
Not wanting that to happen, desperate for that not to happen, she dropped her head down, but he only stepped even closer, and her forehead brushed his chest. He was warm and hard with strength, and beneath the shirt his heart beat steady. Lower down, she knew his abs were washboard hard, and below that … Well, let's just say she had good reason to know his body looked just as perfect without the clothes, and that he knew exactly what to do with it to drive her insane with wanting.
Why did he have to be so damned perfect?
Why couldn't he have love handles? Or bad breath? Okay, maybe not love handles or bad breath, but it'd be nice if he could screw up once in awhile instead of it always being her.
"Babe."
Right. He wanted answers. "It's complicated," she said demurely.
"Uh huh." He tipped up her chin. "Keep going."
Her towel slipped another half inch. Before she could pull it back up, her left hand was in Ranger's, held above her head against the wall in a gentle but inexorable grip. "Steph, look at me."
She stared at his Adam's Apple and hoped the towel was still covering her nipples. His thighs bumped her bare ones and said nipples hardened with hope because they knew exactly how good he could be to them. "Why do I have to look at you?"
"Because we both know you can't look me straight in the eyes when you're lying."
He kept his other hand on her jaw, holding her head, leaving her stretched and bound like an offering. "Maybe I really am an early Christmas present," she murmured.
He stared at her, his eyes no longer unreadable. Now they were filled with heat. "It's only June."
"Merry Half Christmas." But he didn't cave, he never caved. "Okay, fine," she said, grumbling. "So I ran into a little problem with a case."
"What kind of problem?"
"I found proof that a multi-million dollars yacht we'd insured and lost year was purposely destroyed. It didn't click until their second, and more expensive yacht was destroyed last week."
"Drug runners?"
She nodded. "A few deals went bad in a row and we think they sank the boats for the insurance money."
"And?"
"And I'm working on getting proof."
His eyes narrowed. "Let me guess. Your suspects are planning to high-tail it out of town with the cash from the first boat, and you got in their way."
She bit her lip.
"Babe." Temper dropped, replaced by instant concern as his hands slid down to her arms. "Did they hurt you?"
"No."
"Did they—"
"Nothing. They did nothing but cuff me." And okay, maybe they'd looked. A lot. "I'm fine."
If he'd been Joe, he'd have been fighting for control. Her jobs were the basis of any fight she and Joe had ever had; she putting herself in danger, sometimes stupidly. Joe had wanted her to give it up and be a housewife. His housewife.
Ranger had never asked her to be anything other than exactly who she was, screw up or not.
He ran a finger over the cuffs on her wrist. "Hell of a mess you've got yourself into."
"Do you have a key or something?"
"Or something," he murmured, and looked her over again, slowly. "You sure do look like my idea of Christmas, all naked and . . . " He ran a callused finger over the edge of her towel, his knuckles brushing over the plumped up curves of her breasts. "Restrained." His melting eyes met hers and her knees nearly buckled at the memories his words caused.
"Can you just set me free?"
Another slow pass of his finger over the edge of the slipping towel, and though she didn't lower her gaze and look, he was helping the thing fall, damn him, she could feel it. "Ranger."
"Yeah, I could set you free."
Relief rushed through her. Short-lived, as it turned out.
"Soon as you tell me one thing." His slow exhale fanned the hair at her temple, warming her ear, causing a delicious set of goose bumps to raise over her shin.
Her eyes wanted to drift shut. Through the few but memorable times they'd been together, they'd never managed to quench their need for each other.
Truth was, she didn't expect to ever quench her need for him. She missed his arms around her, missed having his big, solid presence in her bed. He had a way of making her forget everything except what he could make her feel, and what he made her feel was like a walking orgasm. The man oozed sex appeal, and that hadn't changed.
He ran his hand up her free arm, once again lifting it over her head, entwining their fingers. His thighs bumped hers and it took every ounce of self control she had – which wasn't much on a good day – not to rub against him like a cat. "What is it you want to know?" she whispered.
"Tell me that you really want me to just set you free and walk away." He curved his fingers into hers now so that they were holding hands rather than him restraining her.
His request was so far from what she expected, she blinked. "You were the one who walked away from me. Repeatedly."
"Mmm," he said noncommittally, tracing the pads of his rough fingers over her skin. Just that small touch and her world spun. Her free hand automatically went to his arm for stability, even though she couldn't have fallen if she'd wanted to. Her fingers dug his ropey, satiny shoulders. She was close enough to see into his dark, dark eyes, and what she saw there made her go still and quivery at the same time.
"Babe."
Just that, just her nickname on his lips, and everything faded away except the excitement that always shimmered between them no matter what they were dealing with. He tipped her face up and their mouths were only a breath apart. With a soft sigh, she leaned into him. A sound escaped him, one of frustration, of need, and then he hauled her close, wrapping his arms tight to her body. "You drive me crazy," he muttered, and rubbed his jaw to hers. "Stupid crazy."
She nodded. She knew it, just as she knew he tried hard not to do anything stupid. No doubt, if he dipped his head a fraction of an inch and kissed her, it'd be a mistake. It'd taken her all these months to even begin to get over him, she couldn't do it again, she just couldn't-
"Babe," he whispered again, and then his mouth touched the very corner of hers.
She let out a helpless little murmur and strained even closer, wanting more, so much more, but he pulled back. Stared at her as the corner of her towel slipped entirely free from between her breasts.
The only thing holding it in place was Ranger's body, and they both knew it. "Uncuff me," she whispered.
"Tell me you don't want this," he whispered back.
Damn it. If she said the words, his clothes would be gone and she'd be panting his name in two point one seconds. But that she was a complete wreck from just one tiny kiss, ready to toss all pride to the wind and beg him for whatever scrap he had left to give her, hurt. Being forced to admit still wanting him was too much to ask. "I don't—" But the lie caught on her tongue.
"You don't what?" he demanded in a rough whisper, his body tight to hers.
She had to close her eyes in an attempt to deny what he could make her feel with just a barely there touch. It'd be so easy to tell him she wanted him that she'd always wanted him, but then they'd be back at square one, with her loving him ridiculously, and him backing away until the wanting overcame him again.
No.
She was stronger than this, and to prove it, she lifted her chin, staring at a spot just over his shoulder. "I don't want you, not like this."
He studied her for a long beat, his gaze burning a hole in her heart.
Not for the first time either . . .
"That's not what I asked you," he finally said.
"I want out of the cuffs, that's all."
He nudged even closer, slipping a muscled thigh between hers.
She nearly melted into a pool of longing on the floor.
"You'll owe me," he said softly, silkily.
She closed her eyes, gathered her strength, then opened them to tell him to go to hell, but he shifted again, that thigh moving between hers, rubbing against her, and all that came out was a whimper.