Lawless (9 page)

"Yes, you did, but I thought we agreed we
could handle it.  You seemed so cocky, so self-assured inside.  What happened?"

He'd never be able to explain how much his
feelings for her terrified him.  He glanced down at her chest where her blouse
still remained open.  "You need to button that."

She frowned, clearly unhappy with the direction their
evening was headed.  "Not until you talk to me."  She pushed away the
wet strands of hair that had plastered to her cheeks.

He worked the muscles in his jaw, trying to
maintain some semblance of control.  "Why can't you do what I ask?"

"I'm going to be stuck in this house with you
for the next month, so I need answers.  If there's a problem, let's talk like
adults.  If that's not an option, I'll pack and find somewhere else to stay."

An angular flash of lightning cracked the sky as
his heart jolted.  "Do not leave my protection."  God, the last time
that had happened…he couldn't think about it.

He grabbed her hand and more or less dragged her
to the porch, out of the rain.  "If you want to stay alive, you need to
listen to me when I tell you to do something."  A drop of water cascaded
down her neck, capturing his attention as it ran over the curve of one breast
and under her purple bra.  "You need to do up those buttons, or better
yet, go inside and dry off."

She folded her arms under her breasts, lifting
them higher, and he cursed under his breath.  "Talk to me."

The fact that he couldn't control her heightened
his frustration.  Emotion warred beneath his surface.  He had to make her see
reason.  He pushed her backward, trapping her against the door.  She widened
her eyes, but it wasn't fear on her face.  The smoldering look she gave him
sent a sharp, pointed tremble straight through him, undoing everything the rain
had cooled.

He leaned down so his face was inches from hers.  "You
really want to know?  Fine.  I'm attracted to you.  Extremely attracted.  But I've
been charged with your protection.  I should have refrained from flirting with
you.  Rule number one—don't get personally involved with your clients.  It's
not ethical, and it's not smart."

And it could cost a client her life.

He gave her the most intense look he could
conjure, hoping she'd get the point.  It was the only way they'd survive the
month intact.  If he was still in the Marshals, he could ask to have her
reassigned.  Not now.  He was her last hope.

She searched his eyes, and he was almost certain
he'd gotten through to her.  "I don't care."

Before he could question her further, she snaked
her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, pressing her lips against his
in a possessive kiss.

Her warm lips tasted like the berries she'd
nibbled, and he couldn't deny himself any longer.  Need exploded inside him. 
He shoved her against the door, framing her face with his hands, losing himself
in the exquisite feel of her.

Her tongue danced against his, her hands slipping
under his wet t-shirt and finding bare skin.  Unbelievable sensations sent his
blood shooting through him, making him rock hard.  He kissed her until he
couldn't breathe.  When he came up for air, reality gave him the bitch-slap he
deserved.  He stumbled back.

"Damn it."  He raked shaking hands
through his hair, drinking in the sight of her standing in the yellow glow of
the porch light, her eyes wide with surprise, her breasts heaving from their
heated interaction.  He took a step back, her surprise turning to confusion.  "That
can't happen again.  That can never happen again."

She watched him for several long seconds, and then
without a word, she went into the house shutting the door behind her.  He would
have preferred it if she'd slammed the door.  Her anger he could understand
and, therefore, could handle.  If she'd even left the door open signaling there
might be some sort of reconciliation after they'd cooled, that would have been better.

Instead, a frighteningly cool shield had slipped
over her expression, like what they'd done, what she might have experienced
meant nothing to her.  Was that truly how she felt?  'Cause it meant a lot more
than nothing to him.

He'd really fucked up this time.  He scrubbed his
hands through his soaked hair again and went inside the house to face the
aftermath.

*        *        *

Ariana stayed in bed much longer than she should
have.  She'd awoken with a startle as usual, but she hadn't been able to make
herself get out of bed.  Instead, she'd tossed for more than an hour, trying to
fall back asleep.  Facing Milo required more courage than she had at the
moment.

She'd made a complete, unadulterated ass of
herself the previous evening.  She'd pushed Milo into a corner, forcing him to
choose between playing strip poker or seeming like a prude.  When he'd gotten
caught up in the moment, she'd seduced him, and when he'd tried to cool things,
she'd kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

Maybe that's because there might not be a
tomorrow for her.  Or maybe because too many of her yesterdays were tortured,
lonely, or just plain unhappy days.  What a disaster her life had become.  She'd
hoped testifying would be the first step toward improvement, but the trial was
taking too damn long to arrive.  The more she was left waiting, the worse
choices she made.

She'd done too many irresponsible things,
enough that Quinn had pulled her from the Marshal's protection and placed her
with Milo.  Then she'd turned around and created chaos here as well, and she'd
only been living with him for two days.  Good Lord, somebody stop her.

The sound of a door closing and an engine
starting brought her upright in bed.  She jumped up and raced to her window to
see Milo's truck driving away.

He'd left her alone.

A driving spear of sadness sank deep within
her.  She shouldn't feel bad.  She was perfectly safe.  Not a soul other than
Quinn knew her whereabouts, and Milo had mentioned going to the store.  It's
just that she'd really wanted to go.  Even if it was only to sit in the car. 
She'd been forced into seclusion for far too long.

She wallowed in her misery long enough to pour
herself a glass of orange juice, and then she gave herself a mental kick in the
butt.  She had less than a month.  The worst was nearly over.  A couple more
weeks and then she'd be able to move forward.  She could do this.  She had to.

Milo had left a note on the table letting her
know he'd headed to town for groceries and to check on his mother, and he'd be
back soon.

Soon.  But not soon enough.

She took her juice out and sat on the porch
swing.  The evening's storm had moved on, leaving only trace remnants of twigs
and leaves scattered across the lawn.  Morning sun heated the porch.  She
tucked her legs beneath her, letting the bright light warm her.

Being in the peaceful fresh air helped lift her
spirits.  With the exception of the little issue she'd created with Milo the
previous night, perhaps Quinn sending her to the middle of nowhere had been his
best idea yet.  She might be isolated, but she wasn't trapped inside a
building.  Here, she could wander and explore without worry of being found.

No one said she couldn't entertain herself while
Milo was gone.

She quickly dressed and strapped on his pistol. 
The likelihood of her father's men finding her was slim, but she wasn't fool
enough to think it was non-existent.

Soon, she was following the same footpath Milo had
taken her along the day before.  It would do her good to get some exercise. 
She could walk to the river and be back long before Milo returned.

As predicted, it didn't take her long to reach
their spot.  The quiet river from the previous day had swelled from the massive
amounts of rain they'd received, partially burying the rock she and Milo had
fished from.  She smiled, remembering her ridiculous dive into the river.  It
had been a good day.  A really good day…until she'd messed it up.

She slipped off her shoes, not wanting a repeat
experience of walking home in squishy Nikes.  She removed Milo's pistol for the
same reason and placed it on her shoes.  The river rushed by as she sat on the
edge of the rock, the coolness of the stone filtering through her jeans.  The
water was faster today, more powerful.  Leaves and small branches cruised along
the surface, apparent victims of the storm.  Still, it carried the same
appealing sound, the same ability to wash away her stress.

Maybe she'd been wrong about small towns all
along.  During her previous relocations, the obscure places where she'd been
forced to live had stifled her.  There'd been nothing to do, nothing but
boredom to suck the life out of her.  She'd craved going to the theatre with
Kenzie or dining at a fine restaurant, the things her father's tainted money
could purchase.  She'd been torn, wanting to rid herself of that lifestyle, but
missing it all the same.

This time was different.  Instead of viewing her
temporary surroundings from behind a plate of glass, she was actively
interacting with nature.  Feeling the grass beneath her feet, listening to the
rush of the river, and smelling the sweet air.

She dipped a toe into the cold water.  This
was
a place she could heal.  Once the trial was over, she'd have vindication for
Danny's death.  She wouldn't be coming back here, but maybe she could go
somewhere similar, somewhere she could finally put the first part of her life
behind her and look forward to building a new future, a future she could
proudly claim.  All she had to do was hold out for a month, and then she'd have
a new chance at life.

She never should have kissed Milo.  As amazing as
he'd been, kissing him had only provided a temporary distraction and had
definitely muddied the waters between them.  Not fair to either of them.  If
she messed things up with her protector, she'd have nowhere to go.  Quinn would
kill her figuratively, and if she came out of deep cover, her father might kill
her literally.

The sound of approaching male voices jerked her
from her reverie.  She slid Milo's gun from the holster and tucked it in her
waistband, covering the weapon with the hem of her shirt.

*        *        *

"I can't do this, Quinn."  Milo sat in
his truck along the side of the road, just a mile from his house.  He'd been to
the grocery store, but had forgone stopping at his mom's house.  She'd know in
a second something was wrong, and she wouldn't stop until she had the truth.  "I
can't remain objective and focused where Ariana is concerned.  I don't think I'm
the one who should protect her.  It's not fair to her."

A laugh came through the speaker on his phone.

"This isn't funny."

"I know she can be a bit of a firecracker."

"Quinn, I'm trying to have a serious
conversation with you.  This is her life we're talking about."

His friend cleared his throat.  "You want
a serious conversation.  Then here you go.  You are her last chance.  I thought
I made this clear before.  There are
no
other options.  She's been
compromised too many times to be put back into the system.  Her father has
long-reaching arms, and somehow, he's infiltrated the Marshals.  My most recent
reports state he's trying to get the trial postponed again in an effort to give
him more time to find her.  He wants her, Milo.  He wants her dead."

"I understand this, but having Ariana in
my home is more difficult than I thought it would be.  Before long, they'll call
me back to work.  Maybe she could stay with you for the next couple of weeks."

"Your work situation has been handled. 
There's been a glitch in the investigation, and it will take a couple more
weeks to get back on track.  And no, Milo, she can't stay with me.  I'm being
watched.  Why do you think I sent her to you in the first place?"

Milo sighed.  "She's a beautiful woman,
Quinn."

"I'm well aware."

"Did she flirt with you?  Tempt you and
tease you like this is all a big game?"

A silent pause came across the phone.  "No. 
Is she flirting with you?"

"She took her shirt off last night during
strip poker.  Picture her, man.  Popping buttons open, inches from your body,
flirting with you like crazy."  He couldn't bear to talk about the sizzling
kiss they'd shared.  "How am I supposed to remain professional?"

"Explain to me why you were playing strip
poker in the first place."

Milo scrubbed a hand down his face.  "I
don't know.  There was a big storm.  She was bored.  It was supposed to be
regular poker, but she somehow convinced me to play."

"Seriously? 
She
was bored? 
She
convinced you?  Do you realize how moronic that sounds?"

Ah…shit.  He did.  "You don't understand. 
She's very…distracting."  He knew the moment he'd muttered the words they wouldn't
help his case.

"What happened to the cold-blooded soldier
I knew in Afghanistan?  The guy who could stay completely focused on a target
despite the chaos raining down around him?"

He drew his brows together, now wondering the
same thing.  He wasn't some weak-ass kid out of high school.  He had skills. 
He had training.  Why the hell wasn't he using them?  "You're right.  I
let her mess with my head."  She'd slipped under his radar when he hadn't
been paying attention, but he had her in his sights now.  He'd figured out her
MO, and he could deal with this.

"So you're good then?  I'm counting on
you, man.  If not you, I've got nothing."

"I'm good.  I can handle her."  Hell,
she was just a woman.  He'd been up against insurgents and rebels.  People who
wouldn't give a second thought before killing him.

He'd manage Ariana.

"Thanks for setting me straight."

"Any time.  Don't let her get to you,
Milo.  She needs you to be strong.  She may not show it, but she's under a
tremendous amount of emotional stress right now.  This has dragged on for many
months.  I think she can sense the end is in sight, and she's starting to fray
a little at the edges."