Manhunting in Mississippi (21 page)

Faith downed the last of her wine, then smirked. “Oh, please. Could you be more nonchalant? You’ve been planning this for months. You want him.” She stepped back, her

assessing gaze skimming up Annie’s body. “And I’d say tonight you’ve got the goods to get him.”

“I hope you’re right,” Annie said, even as her gaze scanned the guests, hoping for a glimpse of the man in question. Come January, Annie was leaving her hometown of Bishop,

Ohio, for the Big Apple. But before she left, she intended to give herself the one thing she’d always wanted but couldn’t have—Brent Carrington.

They may have grown up in the same town, but they had never lived in the same world. That was a simple fact of life. Brent was a
Carrington
—pronounced with nose in the sky and much pomp and circumstance. Annie’s dad drove a truck and her mom waited tables. Their name might be Silver, but their lifestyle sure wasn’t.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Annie said.

“I can.” Faith squeezed her hand, and Annie grateful y squeezed back, accepting some of her friend’s innate strength. “You played by the rules your whole life and it didn’t get you anywhere. Good little Annie who nobody even noticed. And now you’ve final y grown up and decided to go after what you want. It worked for that job in New York, and it’l work for Brent Carrington, too.”

Annie pul ed in a deep breath, hoping Faith was right. She’d always been the good, quiet student. Straight A’s. Doing exactly what the teacher said. No cutting corners. No

taking wild risks. She hadn’t even signed up for a pottery class because she was afraid that the grading was too subjective. And if she got a B—or, heaven forbid, a C—she’d lose her chance at a much-needed scholarship.

But while she might have been an academic success, elsewhere, she was a complete failure. Assertiveness had never been her forte, and she’d spent most of her youth on the

sidelines. Mental y, she lifted her chin. Maybe the old Annie did, but not the new Annie. The new Annie had been gutsy enough to fly to New York, knock on doors, and wait in reception areas to get the interviews she wanted—and the ploy had worked.

She only hoped her ploy to get a single, passion-fil ed night with the one man she’d ever wanted would work as wel .

A waiter passed by, and Faith grabbed a stuffed mushroom, then gestured across the room with it before popping it in her mouth. “Tha’s him.”

“What?”

Faith swal owed. “Over there. By Santa’s Vil age. Brent’s here.”

Annie sucked in a breath, a warm flush enveloping her entire body just from the thought of seeing Brent again. She was almost afraid to turn and actual y look at him, for fear she’d melt right into the floor.

“Go on!” Faith gave her a little push on the shoulder.

“I don’t think I can.” At the moment, she was having trouble even forcing words past her lips.

Faith rol ed her eyes. “Forget nerves. This is your last chance. Brent’s the only guy I’ve ever known you to be truly hot for. You want this, and you deserve it. A last fling before you fly off into the sunset.” She grinned. “So go get him, girl.”

Faith was right; she did want this. She wanted Brent. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck.”

Trying to keep her breathing under control, she turned until she was facing Santa’s Vil age. She didn’t see him, and battled a wave of fear that he’d turned and left after Faith had spotted him. “Where is—?”

And then there he was. The words caught in her throat, and she closed her mouth. He’d moved to a far wal , secluded from most of the revelers, and was leaning casual y

against it. As she worked up her courage to approach, she let her gaze skim over him, taking in his lean physique and broad shoulders.

The Carringtons had always been the royalty of Bishop, and Brent’s classic features certainly fit that bil . A perfect jawline, now sporting a five o’clock shadow, and ears she longed to trace with her fingertip. Even his hair was perfect—dark brown and in place, except for one unruly bit that hung on to his forehead, as if tel ing the world that despite his breeding, Brent Carrington had a wild side, too.

But it was his eyes that had always intrigued her. Deep blue, like the ocean. Eyes that could look into a woman’s heart and tel exactly what she needed. He’d never once turned those eyes on her. Tonight, though, Annie intended to make Brent look at her—and real y see her.

Gathering her courage, she approached, hoping against hope that he would at least remember her. She moved closer, imagining that they’d come to the party together, and

that he’d signaled for her to return to his side.

Stopping in front of him, she looked up, smiling tentatively. “Hi, Brent.” She’d hoped for a husky, sexy voice, but the words came out in a squeak.

At first, his face registered confusion, and she fought a flash of panic. But then his eyes cleared, and he moved toward her so he was no longer leaning against the wal .

“Annie Silver,” he said, the corner of his perfect mouth pul ing up into a smile. “You look fabulous.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she said, mental y crossing her fingers. Then, fortified by the several glasses of wine she’d downed over the last two hours, she pressed on. “Because I have a little something in mind for tonight.”

“Oh?” So far, he hadn’t bolted. Score one for her team. “What’s that?”

“An early Christmas present to myself, actual y.” She sucked in a deep breath.
Now or never,
she thought, drawing courage from the hint of interest she saw reflected in his eyes. “What I want in my stocking is
you.
”

CHAPTER TWO

“EXCUSE ME?”
Brent’s body tightened as Annie’s lips curved around the word
you.
“I’m your present?” That couldn’t be what she meant. Today simply wasn’t his lucky day.

But she was nodding, and damned if his groin wasn’t tightening in response. Which meant that Brent’s day—hel , his entire week—was suddenly looking up.

“You heard me,” she whispered.

He’d heard her, alright. Hel , every fiber in his body had heard her—and reacted accordingly. He just hadn’t believed his ears. But if he’d heard right, Annie Silver actual y wanted him in her bed. Considering the sultry expression in her pale gray eyes and the flush on her cheeks, he was sure he’d nailed the situation.

The only question that remained was
why?
Not that he was stupid enough to put a hold on the situation by asking.

“I…I’m sorry,” she stammered, and he realized he hadn’t answered aloud. “This was stupid. I should go—”

“No.” The word burst from him. Reaching out, he grazed his fingers over her bare arm, delighting in the little moan that escaped her lips. “You can’t say something like that to a man and then leave.”

“Too impolite?” A smile touched her mouth, and he was glad to see she’d relaxed just a bit. Good. He didn’t know what was going on in her head, but if the evening was going

to lead where he hoped, he wanted her relaxed.

“We al have to live by the rules of polite society.”

“What if I don’t feel like being polite?” she asked, moving closer stil until he could feel her heat.

“Sweetheart, that’s al right with me.” His body tightened, and his erection pressed painful y against the confines of his slacks. He fought not to grab her around the waist and pul her close. They were somewhat secluded behind Santa’s Vil age, but they were hardly alone.

“It is?” Surprise laced her voice, and once again he was struck by the dichotomy between the boldness of her actions and the hesitancy in her eyes.

“Come on.” More roughly than he intended, he took her hand, leading her toward the elevator. He needed to get away from prying eyes and questioning glances.

He wanted what she wanted—no question about that. But he didn’t intend to take it until he understood her motives. He didn’t know if that made him chivalrous or self-indulgent, and he didn’t care. Just now he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Because only then could he lose himself inside her. And that, frankly, was one damned strong motivating factor.

She fol owed in silence until they stopped, waiting for the elevator to appear. “Where are we going?”

“Someplace quiet.” He had no idea where, though. The store was fil ed with employees. Not one square inch would provide any privacy.

“Brent!” His father’s voice underscored the point. “There you are.”

Trying for nonchalance, his lips curved in greeting. “Father.” He nodded toward Annie. “You remember Annie Silver.”

“Of course,” he said pleasantly. But the tightness in his father’s face indicated another emotion. Winston Carrington I I might be polite, but he was also a snob.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Carrington,” Annie said. “And, uh, it was great bumping into you, Brent.” She took a step away, and Brent realized her nerve was fading again. “I…uh…

should go find Faith.”

No way was he letting her get away. In one fluid motion he reached for her elbow, urging her back toward him. “I thought you promised to help me.” He smiled at his father. “The champagne’s running low. I’m going to go see how much we have left.”

“Excel ent.” Winston gave him a hearty slap on the back, even while he frowned in Annie’s direction. “I’l see you later, son. And tomorrow I want you managing the toy department.”

“I know, Father,” he said flatly. The last thing he wanted was to spend his Saturday within fifteen feet of Santa’s Vil age and al the Christmas hokeyness his father had crammed into the store.

Then again, Annie would be there, so that would take some of the edge off the punishment. He cast a quick glance her way, taking in the so-short elf costume and green tights.

The outfit hugged her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination, while at the same time managing to seem tame. Her hair hung down to her shoulders in a mass of curls that he supposed destroyed the elfin image somewhat. But he was happy for the trade, especial y since he intended to lose himself in those soft brown waves.

The elevator arrived, and Brent ushered Annie on, then pushed the down button. He’d helped the caterers carry the last case of champagne up from the basement two hours

ago, so he knew no one would disturb them.

As they entered the darkened room, he turned away from her to lock the door behind him. In that brief moment, she scampered away, ending up underneath the one low window

that backed the al ey.

The moonlight filtered in through the wire mesh, setting her skin to glow. Especial y in her costume, she looked ethereal, beautiful. He was hard as a rock just from looking at her. Now he wanted to touch her…stroke her soft skin…tease her nipples….

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes meeting his. He saw regret reflected there. Regret and uncertainty, but also a bit of pride. In one fluid motion, she pul ed herself up and headed for the door. If she went through it, he wouldn’t stop her. Her seductive words and glances had brought him to his knees, and he had no idea what her game was, but there was no way in hel he’d ever force a woman.

She dragged her teeth across her lower lip. “I was being sil y.” She shook her head as her fingers flipped the deadbolt. “I should never have—”

Abruptly she quieted, her eyes wide as she turned to stare at him. “It won’t open.”

In an instant, he was by her side, her nearness disconcerting even as he focused on the door. “The time lock,” he said, the words coming out in a rush as memory returned.

“Father instal ed a time lock. Part of the new security system.”

She sagged against the door. “When…”

“The morning. Seven, I think.”

“Oh.” Her lips formed a perfect circle, encasing the single smal sound.

“Tough break, huh?” He leaned against the wal , brushing her shoulder with his. Unless he’d missed his guess, she stil wanted him. She’d just been overcome with a bout of

conscience. But that wasn’t something Brent intended to let get in their way. Not if he could help it.

“Someone might find us.”

“They might, but…” He trailed off into a shrug. The implication was clear enough. It was a big party. No one would miss them.

She turned to face him, her eyes wide and soft and hesitant. He intended to erase al her hesitations. “Then we’re stuck until morning.”

“Afraid so.” She closed her eyes as he traced her cheek with his finger, then dipped down to fol ow the delicate curve of her neck. “Any ideas how we can possibly entertain

ourselves al night…?”

A smal shiver shook her body, and when she opened her eyes, the longing he saw there cut straight to his gut.

“I shouldn’t have started this.”

“But you did.” With infinite patience, he traced her cheek, delighting when she moaned under his touch. “You started it, and now I want to finish it. So what’s it going to be, sweetheart? Naughty? Or nice?”

CHAPTER THREE

WHAT DID SHE WANT?
Brent’s question hung in the air, and Annie fought to find a coherent answer.

Earlier, it had al seemed so simple—she wanted Brent. But she’d never expected her desire to be reciprocated. Hel , she’d expected him to balk. She’d flirt and tease and

tempt him, but she hadn’t actual y expected him to say yes so easily. Had she?

But he
had
said yes. In fact, his affirmative response had been quite enthusiastic. Which meant that her foolhardy, wine-induced plan was suddenly a reality. And she had absolutely no idea what to do.

“Annie?” His amused grin made him look even sexier than usual. “I sure hope you answer me tonight, because I real y don’t want to waste this opportunity.”

She stumbled backward, unable to think. His scent did something to her insides. Something wonderful, yes, but it made it hard to keep her thoughts in order. “I should never

have—”

“Come on to me so strong you just about melted my insides?” Amusement danced on his moonlit features. “So you said. But you did. And I liked it. And now I want to know what

you want to do about it.”

He’d moved toward her as he spoke, and now she was backed up against a stack of boxes, unable to escape. What she wanted was to press against him and demand that he