License to Thrill Read online

  “Interesting conversation you and your mother were having in there,” he said.

  Melanie avoided his gaze. “You heard?”

  She didn’t realize what he was doing until he slid a mop handle through the door handle, securely barring her mother inside the ladies’ room.

  A hysterical laugh tickled Melanie’s throat. She couldn’t count the times she would have loved to lock her mother in a room. But wishful thinking was one thing; willful doing was quite another. She battled the irresponsible emotion.

  “Let’s go,” Marc said, taking her hand.

  Let’s go? Had he actually just said, “Let’s go”?

  Melanie dug in her heels as best she could, considering she wore no shoes. Her stocking feet slid across the tile as Marc hauled her toward the parking lot. She swatted at him with the lethal shoes in her free hand.

  “Hold on a minute, McCoy. Just where do you think you’re taking me?”

  He stopped. “Why, out of here, of course.”

  Melanie stared at the man who had the power to overturn every one of her well-laid plans. Her stomach pitched as she realized he intended to do just that.

  Then he had the nerve to grin. Grin! Okay, he was rubbing the spot where her spike heel had nicely connected, but otherwise there was no evidence she had done anything more than blow a strand of his rich brown hair out of place.

  “Hello, Mel. Miss me?”

  Miss him? About as much as a bad sunburn. But her heart started to murmur something else. Melanie ignored it.

  “What are you doing here? You weren’t on the guest list. I know because I drew it up.”

  “I penciled myself in.” Marc’s reflective sunglasses prevented her from seeing his brown eyes, but his smile told her more than she wanted to know. His head tilted forward as he took a languid look over the tight-fitting silk of her dress, then up to where the sleek material hugged her waist and breasts. “Put on some weight, haven’t you, Mel?”

  Scorching heat spilled over her cheeks again as she fought the desire to cover her stomach. He doesn’t know, she reminded herself.

  “Looks good on you.”

  While her physical dimensions had altered a bit since she last saw Marc, he hadn’t changed a bit. At six foot two, he was two hundred pounds of raw, muscled male. His military background was evident only in his tall posture. The easygoing grin and lazy casualness were pure Marc, as were his black T-shirt, jeans and the suede vest she knew concealed the 9mm revolver he always carried.

  The mop handle rattled against the door. “Melanie?”

  Oh, God. Mother. “You know, it’s not very nice to go around locking people in bathrooms.” Melanie tugged her hand, but he only tightened his hold. “Marc!”

  “What?”

  “Let me go.” She considered whacking him with her shoe again. He finally released her.

  “Aw, now is that any way to treat an old boyfriend?”

  A handsome grimace creased Marc’s face. A face she had tried to forget. A face chock-full of remarkable features she sometimes found herself wishing her child would inherit. Their child. Melanie swallowed hard.

  “Ex-partner, then,” he said quietly. “Surely you have a few minutes for your ex-partner.”

  Partners. Yes, they had been at least that. Although not in any permanent sense of the word, despite her present condition. Their partnership had been more professional than personal, and she had been dumb to forget that even for a second. As special agents for the Treasury Department’s Secret Service Division, they had worked together for two years. Up until Melanie decided it was time to get out.

  Wrong choice of words. She hadn’t decided anything. The decision had been made for her. By a fellow agent who had turned his gun on her…and by a doctor’s innocent words.

  “Ex-partners do not lie in wait when all they want to do is catch up,” she said softly. “What do you want?”

  Marc had always been good at his job. When he wanted, he could be formidable. His physical appearance alone was enough to scare off any number of fanatics hoping for a shot at stardom by targeting a political candidate. But in his downtime, Melanie knew him to be an irresistibly handsome, rambunctious little boy who usually took nothing and no one seriously. Which gave her a definite advantage over him.

  Melanie bit her lip. She didn’t want to think like an agent anymore. In fact, she hadn’t thought about her previous career for at least—well, half a day. Hooker had called her from jail that morning, after a two-month silence, despite court orders for him not to do so. Hearing his voice before she broke the connection had rattled her as much as his previous calls, not to mention the countless letters he’d sent her, which she had returned unopened. Out of the need to feel safe, she’d strapped her firearm on. An irrational act, considering Hooker was in custody.

  “Yoo-hoo. Melanie, there’s something blocking the door. Could you open it, please?” There were rattling sounds as her mother tried to open it herself. “Melanie?”

  Melanie swallowed hard, feeling Marc’s gaze hone in on her despite the sunglasses. She suppressed a shiver.

  “You’re going to have to call off the wedding, Mel.”

  She blinked. “What?” she whispered.

  “You heard me. Tell the poor guy you agreed to marry you’re sorry, but there’s been a change in plans.”

  Hysterical laughter again threatened to erupt from Melanie’s throat. She thought of all the plans that had been made, the guests who had been invited, and realized she’d drop everything in a heartbeat if she thought for a minute that Marc loved her. But he’d already made it clear he didn’t and never would.

  No, Marc’s appearance was just one more unfair occurrence in a day chock-full of them.

  “Not on your life.” She surveyed him. She noticed the way he stood, all too handsome and deceptively relaxed, then watched the casual way he shifted his weight toward the bathroom door. Melanie’s gaze slid to the barrier, and her heart gave a triple beat.

  “Melanie? Who’s out there with you? Is it Craig? Maybe he can help—”

  Melanie dove for the mop handle. Before she could pull it free, Marc’s arms snaked around her waist. She gasped and thrust her elbow into his stomach with all the force she could muster, given her restricting apparel. She met with what felt like reinforced steel. While she’d gone a little soft around the middle, he’d gotten more than a bit harder.

  “Come on, Mel, don’t make me go to Plan B,” he murmured.

  Plan B? What was he talking about? And why did dread and anticipation spread through her at the humor in his voice? She stilled. “You can let go of me now,” she said with forced calm.

  “Why? So you can try to let your mother out again? No way. I’ve been trying to get you alone all afternoon. Now that I’ve got you, I intend to do what I came for.” His breath stirred the hair over her right ear. She was powerless to stop an obvious shiver. “You are happy to see me.”

  She tried to loosen his grasp, but again he tightened it.

  “Come on, Marc, where am I going to go?” She wriggled against him, hating that he could read her reaction so well.

  “Mmm.”

  Melanie’s knees threatened to give out at the sound of his soft hum. His palms had flattened against her hips and now nudged up toward the underside of her breasts. She gasped, every traitorous part of her body craving that all too familiar touch.

  Marc buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply. “God, I forgot what it was like to touch you.”

  Need grew within her again, stronger this time. “Please let me go.” She hated the helpless quality of her voice and tried to insert some metal. “Or else I’ll do something you won’t find very pleasant.”

  His chuckle stirred more than her hair. “You always were one for idle threats, weren’t you?”

  Somehow she found the energy to do what she had to. Curling her fingers around one of the shoes, she swung it backward, heel first, hitting her intended target. Air rushed from Marc’s body. He
stumbled back, releasing his hold on her and reaching for his crotch.

  “How idle was that?” Melanie whispered. Clutching her shoes in one hand, she reached for the mop handle with her other.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Marc said.

  Melanie’s stomach gave a small flip as she struggled to open the bathroom door. She nearly had the mop free when Marc drove it home.

  “Why did I think this would be easy?” he murmured.

  The world tilted beneath Melanie. By the time everything stopped spinning, she found herself draped over one of Marc’s wide shoulders, her shoes bouncing off the tiled floor. Her eyes were parallel with his jeans-clad rear end. And oh, what a rear end it was, too. Too bad she wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it at the moment.

  What was she thinking? She didn’t want to enjoy anything about Marc. Not now. Not ever again. In two days she was getting married. And not to Marc. Because Marc had a bad habit of disappearing when she needed him most.

  “I can’t believe you just did that!”

  “Yeah, well, believe it,” he murmured. “I don’t care what they say, sometimes drastic measures are necessary.”

  They? Who were they? God, she wished some of this mad situation would start making sense.

  Marc suddenly stilled. “Everything’s fine, sir. You just go on about your business.”

  Melanie peeked around his hips to see her uncle Fred worrying his tie in his hands. Bedford’s most prominent banker scurried toward the men’s room across the hall, not even attempting to help. Melanie suddenly wanted to cry.

  A tentative knocking sounded on the ladies’ room door. “Melanie? Are you all right?”

  Drawing in a fortifying breath, she said, “I’m fine, Mother.” Aside from feeling like a sack of flour. “Feel better now?” she asked him quietly.

  “Much, thank you,” Marc said lightly. “Now, tell me how I go about making you see reason.”

  “Reason? I’m not the one who just threw someone over her shoulder.”

  She felt a hot hand on her ankle. She fidgeted and tried to see what he was doing.

  “Hold still, or you’ll find a hand right where I’m sure you least want it,” he said. “Tell me, Mel, do you still take that neat little nickel-plated .25 everywhere you go?”

  Melanie’s eyes widened as he cupped her right heel, then slowly slid his fingers up her calf, tickling the back of her knee. “Marc! Get your hands off me, you overgrown—”

  His probing ceased just short of her panties. He stood silently for long moments. Melanie didn’t dare breathe. Awareness tingled everywhere his hand had touched, and even now neglected parts of herself pleaded for the pleasure they knew Marc could bring.

  “Satisfied?” she croaked.

  “Not nearly,” Marc said quietly. He moved his hand across her backside, eliciting a gasp, then slowly began down her other leg. “There she blows,” he said, pulling her .25 free from her thigh holster.

  Melanie groaned and pushed against him in exasperation.

  “Tell me, Mel, does your fiancé know what you hide under your skirt?” he asked, not removing his hand. Instead, he caressed the spot around her empty holster with feathery, fiery flicks of his callused thumb. She wriggled against him, threatening to topple herself to the floor. The way she figured it, anything was better than subjecting herself to Marc’s all-knowing touch.

  “Put me down.”

  His hand abruptly disappeared from her leg.

  Rather than relief, Melanie felt nothing but disappointment. She held on for dear life as he bent to pick up her shoes.

  “I will,” he said, the lazy teasing back in his voice. “Eventually.”

  2

  MARC TOOK IN everything and everyone in the parking lot in one glance. He hadn’t expected to spot Tom Hooker lurking in the shadows—the shooter who could even now have his gunsights set on Mel—but he hadn’t expected Hooker to escape custody the day before, either. No matter how overloaded his senses were with Mel’s nearness, he couldn’t forget that all evidence indicated Hooker was not only on a direct route to Mel, he was armed to the teeth, as well.

  He picked up his pace.

  Well, that hadn’t exactly gone as planned, had it? He shifted Mel’s weight more evenly over his shoulder, ignoring her attempts to get him to let her down. Ignoring, too, the warmth of having her body against his again, even given present circumstances. He strode toward his Jeep, parked in the far corner of the lot. The smell of new fabric mingled with Mel’s soft, subtle perfume. Linden flowers. That’s what he had always likened the scent to. She had always insisted it was jasmine. One of these days he’d take her to his family home in Manchester, Virginia, to show her the linden tree in the back yard. The tree’s brief but fragrant blossoms were the closest he’d ever gotten to any type of flower in the all-male household in which he’d been raised. Of course, while Mel shared his small town background, the only flowers likely to be found in her yard were of the rose variety.

  “Where are you taking me?” Mel asked, wiggling to free herself from his hold.

  “Cut it out, Mel. You’re just making this harder.” He tried not to focus on the way her breasts jiggled against his back and gave her bottom another squeeze. He grinned at her gasp.

  “Is that what this is all about?” Her voice was raspy. Her movements stopped. “Are you doing this to cop one last feel?”

  “Feel?” He opened the back door of the Jeep, thinking that touching her again would indeed be reason enough for him to kidnap her. “No, Mel.” He laid her across the back seat, causing the tight, short skirt to shimmy up her thighs, baring her legs and other more secret areas for his scrutiny. He tossed her shoes into the back, his gaze glued to the tiny scrap of material that masqueraded as underwear. It didn’t come close to disguising the soft, down-covered swell of sweet flesh it covered.

  He concentrated on the tightening of his throat instead of the swelling in another area of his anatomy. Oh, how he longed to claim that mouth of hers with his, to skim his hands down her lush body, to trail a finger along the border of those panties, slowly, teasingly, watching as the silky material dampened with her reaction….

  He reined in his thoughts. Speaking of groins, he’d be better off protecting his whenever he was on this side of her feet. The thought hit him just as she thrust her foot toward him.

  He caught her ankle. Despite her actions, in her face he read the same longing he felt. He hadn’t realized how much he missed small moments like these. When everything but Mel vanished into the background. When just knowing how quickly he could make her come apart sent his blood pounding through his veins and opened a peculiar sort of weightlessness in his stomach.

  He shifted his hand up her calf, the languid move hiding the way he shook inside.

  “Marrying Craig will make me happy.”

  Melanie’s words to her mother just moments earlier echoed through his mind. His hand froze as he slowly tore his gaze from her face. The feel of her warm, satiny skin beneath his palm made him fear it would take a crowbar to lift his hand.

  A glance around the parking area reminded him where he was and what he was doing. Gradually, the sound of his heartbeat lessened, and the drone of cars passing on the nearby street increased. He finally moved his hand and swallowed…hard.

  “Nice view,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

  When he dared look at her again, her cheeks were flushed with color and she was avoiding his gaze. But it was the rough sound of her voice that betrayed her most of all. “Yeah, well, you might want to get a good look while you can.” Mel battled with the skirt, pulling on the hem until it somewhat covered her.

  I don’t need to look. Everything about you is already burned into my memory.

  Marc forced himself to reach for the handcuffs he’d left on the floor. He leaned toward her, careful not to let things spiral out of control again. Afraid it wouldn’t take much.

  “I’m really sorry about doing this, Mel.” He grasped her wrist.
He expected a struggle, but surprisingly he encountered little. He grimaced as he tugged her arm over her head. The metal teeth of the cuffs caught as he attached one side to her wrist, threaded the other through the handgrip above the window, then dragged her other arm up. He tried not to notice the way her chest heaved with every breath as he caught her legs under his weight. He took his sunglasses off and tossed them to the front seat. He was about to pull away when his gaze snagged on hers again.

  God, it had been a long time. Too long.

  Marc stretched his neck, thinking an ordinary man would be a goner with one look into Mel’s face right now. She looked altogether too kissable, too damned sexy. Luckily he’d never considered himself an ordinary man. He came from four generations of McCoys who had served in the military or law enforcement or both. He had once been a Marine. Nope, none of the five current McCoy brothers, if asked, would ever admit to knowing the meaning of the word ordinary.

  Only problem was, the pep talk wasn’t doing diddly to douse his need to taste her lips….

  Before he knew it, he was leaning closer to her, his breath mingling with her wine-scented breath. He eyed her mouth, groaning at the way she moistened her lips with a quick dart of her pink tongue.

  “Marc, you better, um, not do what I think you’re about to.”

  “Do what?” Get it under control, McCoy. “Kiss you?”

  She made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a warning. It took Herculean strength to leave her mouth untouched, her lips slightly parted, no matter how much he wanted to claim both. Because of how much he wanted to. Instead he brushed his lips against the sensitive shell of her ear. “Remember when we used the handcuffs for reasons that were…not professionally correct?”

  “That…that was a long time ago.” She fairly croaked.

  “Not so long ago that you can’t remember.” Not so long ago that he couldn’t remember, either. Even now he hardened painfully at the images that slipped through his mind. Sex with Mel had always been intense. But, somehow, looking at her now, he found it hard to believe this prissily dressed example of upper-middle-class bliss could still be an inventive spitfire between the sheets.