Various States of Undress (16 page)

Earlier this morning when Carolina had been in the shower, he’d made the call to his boss and asked for reassignment. It had been awkward since he hadn’t been on her detail for long, but he’d made it clear that Carolina was not at fault. No, she hadn’t been eluding protection. No, she hadn’t been hard to get along with. He simply wanted to be back in civilization, and there were several other agents on Virginia’s and Georgia’s details who would appreciate the change of pace, weren’t there? The answer had been yes, and the wheels were already in motion. It was as good as done. The thought should have brought him relief since leaving her was the only way to protect her from future scandal, but all he felt was a spreading sadness and a weight of guilt. He’d done the right thing, so why didn’t he feel justified.

“Are you going to throw those in or just squeeze them to death?”

Carolina’s amused voice broke into his thoughts and he looked down at the package of hot dogs in his hand. Two of them were mangled, and the plastic had burst open on one end; hot dog juice dripped onto the kitchen floor.

“Shit,” he muttered. Throwing the package into the sink, he grabbed a paper towel from a roll on the counter and squatting, began cleaning up the mess.

“I wasn’t really in the mood for processed tube meat, anyway,” Carolina said leaning against the counter and handing down another paper towel.

“You’re not interested in . . . tube meat?”

She blushed. “I wasn’t thinking about . . . you know.”

“I was.” He turned his attention back to the floor, smiled, and waited for her response. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Do you think about anything
else
?”

Of course he did. His conscience had been driving him crazy because he’d been thinking about all kinds of things since yesterday evening—like what if he really did do the unthinkable and quit the Secret Service? He’d given up a lot when he’d turned his back on a career in the Major Leagues to be an agent. And if he quit to go back to baseball, he’d be turning his back again, wouldn’t he? Besides, could he realistically start over? And the biggest what if—the one that made his mouth go dry—what if he went with his heart and attempted a future with Carolina? Wouldn’t the scandal that would create damage her father’s fledgling presidency?

Those thoughts sent a surge of nervousness racing through his heart. How was he supposed to discuss all of that with her when he could barely manage to allow himself to think it? He wouldn’t be doing either one of them a favor if he led her to believe he was seriously considering her plan. So he gave her a lascivious wink. “How can I think about anything else but sex? It’s hard to focus when you keep seducing me, you know.”

“What? Weren’t you the one who woke
me
up at three a.m.?” She laughed. “And then kept me up until dawn?”

He straightened up. “You didn’t complain at the time.”

“I’m not complaining now.” Holding onto the edge of the counter, she leaned forward until her breasts brushed against his rib cage. “Now about those hot dogs . . .”

He shook his head. “Be my guest. I don’t want any.”

She leaned closer. “I don’t want any of the hot dogs in the pan. But there’s one in particular . . .” Then she blushed and crinkled up her cute nose. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Chuckling, Jake walked to the trash can and threw away the paper towels. “I can, and something tells me there are a lot worse sex jokes racing around that mind of yours.”

“Even though you know I’m as pure as the driven snow outside the window?” She blinked innocently.

He held up his hands. “Not going to touch that one. Why don’t we change the subject?”

“Okay,” she said quickly. “Let’s talk about baseball.”

He groaned.

“Come on, Jake. I’ve been thinking about what you said at Regina’s yesterday—a lot.”

“I haven’t.”

“Liar.” As he brushed past where she stood, she caught his arms in her small hands.

Jake stared down at her determined eyes and her soft lips. God, she was beautiful. Smart, talented, and beautiful. She had no idea how sexy she was. His desire for her always there simmering, came to a full boil and he took a long breath. “Yeah, I’m a liar. You got me.”

“Are we going to talk baseball, then?”

He hesitated. “Maybe later.”

For a moment, she looked as if she was still going to argue, but then she smiled slowly. “Okay.” She leaned closer to him, her breasts nestling against his chest.

Jake cleared his throat. “Besides—weren’t you going to organize photos this morning? Make up a list of questions for Regina? Study Ansel Adams or something like that?” He reached out to still her body, but found himself pulling her closer—until her hips settled into his. “I’m just trying to help keep you on track.”

She groaned. “Yes. I want to do all of those things. But . . .”

“But what?” He kissed her neck.

“It’s hard for me to concentrate knowing that I still haven’t gathered up my courage, called my thesis advisor and quit school.” Her breath caught as his lips moved to her collarbone. “And then there’s the biggest distraction of all . . .”

“Mmm.” Jake sucked on her warm ear lobe. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh, God.” Carolina pushed against his shoulders. “You know what? You’re right. I need to focus.”

This time it was his turn to groan. “Seriously?”

She nodded against his chest. “I think I’ll go across the clearing and visit Regina.”

Jake tried one more time, letting his fingers slide into the scooped neckline of her top. “You saw her yesterday.”

“So? We didn’t get much of a chance to chat about photography during lunch, since all she did was talk about baseball. And we both know why she did that.”

“It was pretty obvious.” Jake let her go with a sigh and scratched the back of his neck. “Subtlety isn’t her strong suit.” He pointed a finger at her. “Yours either.”

“She’s just trying to get you thinking about the future. She means well. And I . . .” Carolina dropped her gaze and then walked into the living room. She picked up her camera and examined it. “You still
like
baseball, right?”

“I love it, but baseball is not my future.”

Carolina gave him a knowing smile. “Whatever you say.”

“Carolina . . .”

“Oh, don’t use that tone with me. We’re way past the Secret Service agent handling the First Daughter with kid gloves phase, aren’t we?”

He shrugged. “So you want to go see Regina?”

“No. I
am
going to see her. You can watch from the porch if you like, to make sure I make it safely across a flat clearing that is completely surrounded by electric fences and security cameras.” She raised an eyebrow at him as she grabbed her coat and gloves from the back of the sofa.

“Damn it.” Jake shook his head. “You don’t have to be a fucking drama queen about it.”

“That’s more like it.” She smiled sweetly.

“But I’m coming with you, even though Regina will descend on me like a wild dog with a fresh kill.” He pointed at her again. “That’s devotion, by the way.”

“I know.” Her smiled widened.

“Just give me a minute. I’m going to the bathroom.”

Carolina put on her coat and zipped it up. “Be quick.”

“That goes without saying. I’m a guy,” Jake tossed over his shoulder as he stomped out of the kitchen.

Her answering laugh brought a grin to his face, and he was still smiling as he stepped out of the bathroom to the bedroom to turn off the lamp. When he saw her laptop open on the bed, he paused in the doorway and peered at it. A photo gallery was open on the screen and after a glance at the living room to make sure she wasn’t watching, he sank down next to it.

These were the photos she’d taken early this morning—after he’d kept her up half the night. He’d been sleepy, sated, and in the best mood he’d ever experienced when they’d crept outside into the breathtakingly still, cold air. The sun had just been curling around the sharp edges of the mountain peaks and Carolina had been like the sun herself—radiant—from the red scarf flapping around her shoulders to her pink cheeks and the smile lighting her warm eyes. She’d taken photos until the stinging wind and freshly blowing snowfall had driven them back inside.

But in that short amount of time, she’d managed to take a lot of photos and they were good. No—they were great. He was no expert, but if he had to describe them, he could only think of one word: effortless. The sunrise bursting over a mountain. A bright pine branch—so many shades of green—in stark relief against a drift of snow. And then there were the photos of him. He hadn’t realized she’d taken so many—captured so many moods. It was as if she’d painted them rather than snapped a button. Everything he’d been feeling the past few days was right in front of him on that screen—raw.

Looking at them made him uncomfortable. His guard had been down, but there was something else too. She could only have taken such honest photos because she understood him. Had empathy for him. She was
connected
to him. His breath caught at the realization, and he closed the laptop.

Connected. He couldn’t handle thinking about that, just like he couldn’t handle thinking about anything related to her, especially when the clock was ticking so cruelly. Time was not on their side.

Quit thinking. Period.

He found his voice and called out. “Carolina? You almost ready?”

She didn’t answer.

He walked into the living room, expecting to see her curled up in her dad’s recliner, and waiting. She wasn’t.

Jake walked to the foot of the stairs. “Carolina!”

No answer.

“Hell.” Quickly, he shoved his feet into boots and his arms into coat sleeves. Grabbing his revolver, he glanced at the alarm keypad by the front door, which should have been the
first
thing he’d checked. It was unarmed.

“She’s in deep shit,” he announced to himself, even as a trickle of fear ran down his back. Real fear, not just adrenaline. He ignored it as he rekeyed the alarm, slipped his phone into his pocket and stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

He forced himself to pause a minute, shielding his eyes from the gusts of whirling snow that blew from the roof. He had to wait, because he needed visibility. No matter how badly he wanted to rush blindly forward, he needed to be able to assess the surroundings. Doing that would put her in danger—put them both into a potential trap—and it would be stupid.

The gusts of wind lashed against him and he cursed. It was snowing again, and hard. But if he couldn’t see anything, he was sure as hell a kidnapper couldn’t either. Jake had to find her—now.

“Carolina!” He jumped down the steps and waded a few feet into the clearing. “Answer me!”

He waited, listening to the moaning wind.

And heard a scream.

C
AROLINA FELL FACE
first off the edge of the back deck, a mouthful of snow stealing her breath. She laid there for a minute surrounded by deep drifts, her heart hammering.

Dimly, she was aware that one of her boots was gone and her camera was too. She struggled to her knees, squinting as icy snowflakes pelted her already frozen face. Jake was calling her name.

“Here,” she called breathlessly. “I’m back here.”

“Carolina!” he bellowed. His voice sounded near, as if he was around the corner of the cabin.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered. But she wasn’t irritated with him—she was pissed at herself for causing him trouble. All she’d wanted to do was snap a photo of the snowdrifts on the deck. She just hadn’t realized exactly where the deck had ended and the drifts had begun.

Sucking in a breath, she raised her chin. “I’m back here! I’m fine!”

In an awkward turn, she reached up above her head for the edge of the deck and gripped it to haul herself up. She tumbled back again, her hip landing on something sharp. Her camera. “You’ve got to be
shitting
me.” With an exasperated groan, she stuffed her gloved hand in the snow and yanked on the camera strap. It didn’t budge and she yanked again. This time, the camera flew out of the snow and banged against her cheekbone. “Ow!”

“Carolina!”

Jake appeared on the deck above her, a big blue blur in her watery vision. He paced like a predator, gun in one hand, phone in the other.

“Down here,” she gasped, struggling to get up again. “Jake!” she said louder.

He went still for a moment and then walked to the edge of the deck. An instant later, he stuffed the gun and phone into his coat pockets and vaulted himself over the edge—promptly letting out a howl as his coat ripped on the railing.

“Son of a bitch!” He sprawled in the drift next to her and grabbed at his side. When he pulled his hand away, it was wet and red.

Carolina gasped again. “Oh my God.”

Jake stared at her. “You’re bleeding.”

“No, I’m not. Look at yourself.” Her hand fell away from her cheekbone, and she yanked up his thermal shirt to examine his rib cage. In the blowing snow, she couldn’t see much of anything. “We need to go inside. I’ll help you.”

“Like hell. You’re injured.” Jake smacked her hands away and cradled her face in his bare, cold hands. “How did this happen?”

“My camera banged into my cheek. Not a big deal.”

He frowned. “It is too.”

“I didn’t get gored by a porch railing, Jake. You need to let me look at your side.”

He shook his head and clambered up. An instant later, he lifted her off her feet. “Be still,” he murmured, and then wrapped her inside his open coat and pressed her face to the warm crook of his neck. His hand stayed on the back of her head as he bent to retrieve her camera and boot and she inhaled, her breath hitching at the clean scent of his skin. He held her close and began to trudge through the snow.

It was her fantasy. Her fantasy come true—Jake sweeping her off her feet and whisking her away from danger. She hadn’t expected to be actually injured—or be partially shoeless, or for her hands to be awkwardly folded and smashed between her breasts—but still, it was heaven. None of her discomfort mattered because her senses were overcome by his command, his masculinity—his surety.