Banged Up (2 page)

Hell, that wasn’t fair, she probably wasn’t skinny-assed. She probably had a nice rear on her, one which matched the nice front. He wouldn’t mind checking it out, just to make sure. He loved a woman who was nicely balanced—tits and ass.

“If you don’t tell me who you are and what you’re doing here, I’ll strip off this skimpy shirt of yours and anything else you’re wearing—which probably isn’t much.” He raked another look down her long, supple, hot little body.
It has been too long.
“And drag you out onto the front lawn. I’ll start yelling like a carnival barker until all of the neighbors come out and look at you buck naked. They might enjoy a nice little side show.”

It was an empty threat, but Mace contained his smirk when what little color she had drained away from her face. What she didn’t know was if he made the effort—even as small as it would be—to get her naked, there wouldn’t be anyone looking at her but him.

His cock was already at half-mast.

She remained silent. He couldn’t believe it, she actually wasn’t going to talk. He grasped both her wrists in one hand and with the other began to slowly pull up the hem of her nightshirt, revealing pink satin panties.
Hot damn
. His dick was at complete attention now, but unfortunately caught in an uncomfortable position. He was not going to adjust himself right at the moment, proving what a horny shit he was.

Before he could raise the soft cotton shirt above her flat belly—
Goddamn, she was
an innie—
she squirmed her hips away from him, the color returning to her face in full force. “Okay, okay! My name is Colby Parks.” In what looked like defeat, she closed her eyes.

Mace reluctantly released the shirt, pushing away the feeling of regret, and watched the fabric catch on her hip. For half a second, he wished she would have been more stubborn; she was obviously not wearing a bra. He would have liked to see what was under the big dumb Great Dane. He gave himself a mental shake. “Colby Parks? Is that your real name?”

“Yes!” She tossed her head, flipping the hair away from her face.

A dusting of freckles crossed her nose. He knew better than to be distracted by something so simple like freckles. He wondered where else she had freckles. Okay, he needed to concentrate! This woman had pulled a gun on him. In his career he couldn’t afford to lose his focus. “It must be. Who could make up a name like that? What are you doing here?”

“House sitting.”

“Yeah.” Mace chuckled again. “And doing a very good job at it.” His humor quickly vanished to deadly seriousness. He pushed his face close to hers. His attempt to intimidate her once again failed when her soft breath, coming quickly through those full, parted lips, sidetracked him once more. For a split second. Or two. “Who hired you?”

Colby Parks’ green eyes shot daggers at him. Now he knew where the saying “if looks could kill” came from. “If you truly live here, you should know that!”

Mace squeezed her wrists tighter. His eyes narrowed as he muttered, “Lady, I’m not here to play games. Answer the question.”

Colby hesitated a second before Mace saw the resignation cross her expression. He was almost disappointed she was going to give up. He liked her fire. Okay, he more than
liked
it.

“Maxi … Maxine Walker.”

Ah, so that’s why his sister wasn’t here to greet him. Maxi hired this little gun-toting vixen to watch the house. She was out of town.

Mace released her without warning and Colby stumbled away, rubbing her wrists.

She turned and ran into the kitchen. Mace followed right behind her, making sure he stayed between her and the gun. She was predictable. He depressed the hook switch on the phone while she frantically dialed.

“Don’t call the police. It would just be more of an embarrassment for you.”

Colby held the phone to her chest like a lifeline. She stared at him, wide-eyed. A rabbit cornered by a wolf. The pressure of the handset against the thin, worn cotton only emphasized what he was trying not to notice. Okay, what he didn’t want to admit to noticing. He turned away, picked up the gun, stuffing it into his jacket pocket, and limped to the kitchen table. With a groan, he slowly sank into a hard wooden chair. “I’m Mace Walker. Maxi’s brother.” He didn’t bother to look at her, he assumed she would make the right choice at this point.

From behind, Mace heard the receiver clatter onto its base. Huh, he was right. He massaged his right thigh, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Maxi’s brother.” The whisper had come from behind him. But within another second she was standing in front of him, hands jammed on her hips, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have a brother.”

Mace looked at the gathered cotton at her waist, trying to ignore—but failing miserably—the way the hem of the shirt was now cockeyed and almost flashing those pink panties. Those panties probably smelled so sweet. He massaged his thigh harder.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “I’ve known Maxi for over a year and she has never—not once—mentioned a brother. And she certainly didn’t tell me he’d be visiting.”

She stood for a minute, appearing undecided what to do. With an exasperated huff, she pulled out the chair across from him. With a tug on the hem of her nightshirt, Colby settled into it. The tug was a sad attempt at covering her long length of thigh, but it certainly covered that sweet little package wrapped in pink satin.
Okay, concentrate,
damn it.

“She doesn’t tell anyone she has a brother so no one asks questions.” He stood and left the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a prescription bottle and her gun. He released the full clip and unloaded the round in the chamber. A chill ran up his spine as the lone hollow-point bullet rolled across the kitchen table. She really could have shot him. He tossed the empty gun in her lap, making her jump. Leave it to a woman to be more dangerous than the Mafia.
Fuck.

“I hope you have a license for that.” He stuck the clip in his jacket pocket, and went to the cabinet for a glass.

He was relieved the glasses were still in the same place where he left them two years ago. He had horrible visions of his sister taking over his house and redecorating it all girly-like. He was glad she had enough sense to leave things be.

When he crossed to the sink, he realized he was wrong. Maxi
had
changed some things. He frowned at the little yellow ceramic duck with a blue ribbon tied around its neck which held a sponge. That would have to go.

After filling the glass with cold tap water, he swallowed a pill and took a drink. On second thought, he popped another. He settled across from Colby again, studying her while he waited for the painkillers to kick in. Her mouth was pressed into a tight line, a shame for those luscious lips, and he could see the wheels turning in her head.

“Why wouldn’t she want anyone to know she has a brother? Were you in jail?” Her eyes widened for a second. “Are you an escaped convict?”

Mace couldn’t help but smile. She had to be kidding. “Yeah, I’m an escaped convict and you’re my hostage. You have to do what I say. Get naked and lie on the table.”

Mace watched for a reaction. Nothing.

Colby Parks looked stone-cold, not even a twitch of a smile. “I want to see some proof you are who you say you are.”

Lady, someone must have burned you good to make you so mistrustful you have to
interrogate a friend’s brother. Oh, and carry a gun.
He couldn’t forget that. But, honestly, he couldn’t blame her. It was like looking at his reflection; he would be just as cautious and suspicious if he were in her shoes—he glanced down at her naked feet—or in those cute, pink painted toes.

“What, knowing which cabinet the drinking glasses are in isn’t proof enough?”

“Don’t toy with me. I want to see some ID.”

Her determination fascinated him. Determined, not afraid of guns, one hell of a hottie … a redheaded, green-eyed, freckled one, to boot. Colby reminded him of an uptight school teacher. The kind who, at night, would let her hair down and get wild. She could be a sex kitten under her stubborn exterior. His type of woman. Mace grinned. His mind drifted back to their conversation and he realized she waited expectantly. “ID? Like my inmate’s ID card with my mug shot and number on it?”

“An ID would do.”

“Sorry, I left it behind when I scaled the walls. Had to pack light. It was a long swim from Alcatraz to land.” Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to appreciate his sense of humor.

He sighed, the pain in his leg was slowly easing. His relief was short-lived, for some reason he now had a headache. He looked over at the reason. “Where is my dear sister, anyhow?”

“Away.”

“Hmm. I figured. She wouldn’t have needed a house-sitter if she was only on a date.”

“She’s on her honeymoon.”

Mace straightened up, his eyes narrowing. “Honeymoon?” He tried to read her expression but it was nonexistent. At the moment, she was a rock.

“Yes, you know, the trip you go on after you get married?”

He ignored the dig, thinking her humor was no better than his. “She got married? To who? When? Where did she go?”

Colby leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Mace wanted to protest because he could no longer see the hard pebbles of her nipples through her shirt.

“If you’re her brother, why don’t you know about this? Why weren’t you at the wedding? Did you have a falling out or were you really in prison?”

“Neither. We were separated by necessity.” The half-assed explanation sounded lame even to his ears.

“Separated by necessity,” she said slowly, the words rolling around in her mouth like she could taste them. “And how long was this so-called
separation
?”

“I don’t know.” Of course, he knew. But saying it out loud made it sound worse.

“Two years,” he mumbled.

“Two years,” she repeated with a frown. “Then you’ll just have to wait until she gets back. I don’t feel I should tell you her personal details.”

With a weary sigh, Mace rubbed a hand over his eyes. Too tired to argue, he said, “And when will that be?”

“In two months.”

Mace cursed softly. Two months? Who goes on a honeymoon for two months? “I might not be here that long.”

“You won’t be here at all. I wasn’t given any instructions about letting visitors stay while she was away. So you’ll just have to hide out somewhere else.”

“Think again. I own this house.”

He grinned when Colby stiffened in her chair and her hands landed back in her lap.

Her knuckles whitened, her grip tightening on the empty gun.

—

Colby stood and laid the gun on the table, studying the man across from her. Mace Walker’s presence alone was enough to rattle her at first, but now she was torn by conflicting emotions. He said he was Maxi’s brother. This house was his, not hers. Why hadn’t Maxi told her? Could she trust him? He certainly didn’t look trustworthy.

His intensely dark, almost black eyes and his unshaven face unnerved her. His dark clothes seemed suspicious since his bulky leather jacket was oversized, perhaps large enough to conceal something. Creeping into the house after dark made him even more suspect. Maybe she should call the police anyway. Possibly he was just trying to get her to let her guard down, only to rape and murder her in her sleep. Then again, maybe he was telling the truth. He did sort of look like Maxi, but in a more beefy, masculine way.

“I still want to see some ID,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

With a grumble he pulled out his wallet, flipping it open. A photo ID was tucked in the clear plastic front pocket, but he didn’t remove it and she couldn’t see it clearly from where she stood. He dug until he found something specific. He handed her an old, expired driver’s license, one in which he looked much younger … and his expression was worry-free. No frown lines marred the man looking at her from the photo, but it did prove he was Macen Jeffrey Walker and the address was for the house they were sitting in.

“What, you haven’t had a driver’s license since you were…” Colby glanced at the date. “Eighteen? Been in the slammer that long?” She did some quick figuring. He was thirty-six. She now had serious doubts he had ever been imprisoned, but she wanted to pay him back for scaring her earlier. It was only fair.

“No. Not any with my real name on them.”

“Ah. So what do you do,” Colby read his name off the license, “Mr. Macen Jeffrey Walker, that you haven’t seen or even talked to your sister in two years, don’t have a current driver’s license with your own name on it and have to creep into your own house after dark?” She flipped the license back to him. She couldn’t wait to hear his explanation.

He caught the license in midair, taking his time tucking it back into his wallet before answering her. “Oh, this and that. You know, a lot of traveling.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“That’s too bad, Colby.”

Colby wasn’t sure what he meant. But one thing she was sure about was her name on his lips bothered her, for more reasons than she wanted to admit. “Not really. Your job wouldn’t have anything to do with manufacturing license plates, would it?”

“Sort of. I do the hiring, in a way.” Mace stiffly pushed himself up from the chair and swept long fingers through his coffee-colored hair, the kind of coffee he probably drank. Black and strong. “Well, I’m beat. I’m going up to bed.”

“Wait…” Colby followed him into the foyer, realizing he had two bags sitting by the staircase. She hadn’t noticed them earlier in the tussle. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

As he leaned down to pick up his duffel bags, his hand gripped the banister tightly, so tight she wouldn’t be surprised if there were indentations from his fingers in the wood.

“I don’t care what you think. I’m tired. This is my house. I’m going to my bed. Those are the facts. Live with them.”

Clearly, he was struggling to keep a blank face. He was in pain just walking up the steps, evident by the white brackets around his pressed lips. She wondered how old his injury was. She stood there helplessly while he carried his bags up the stairs.