Guilty Pleasures Read online

  She…

  “I think she’s been tagged. But I’m not telling you anything you hadn’t already suspected. That’s what you were looking for when I traded places with you, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t think a response was necessary, so she didn’t offer one.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Of trading her for mine.”

  “And yours would be…?”

  “At your place.”

  She raised a brow. “The warehouse?”

  “Yeah.”

  Okay…

  “The way I figure it, they won’t expect us to go back there.”

  “But if they’ve tagged the car…”

  “Which is why we need to go back into town.”

  She squinted at him.

  “Taxi.”

  “Ah.”

  He wanted to ditch the Camaro in town and hail a taxi to take them to the warehouse.

  She supposed it could work.

  “And after that?”

  He held her gaze for a long moment. “After that will come after that.”

  Right.

  Ask a stupid question… She settled back into the seat.

  “You ready?”

  “Circle around one more time first, please.”

  “Half a time.”

  “Deal.”

  6

  JONATHON DIDN’T KID himself into thinking Mara wouldn’t make a run for it the first chance she got. But there were a few things he needed to do outside where he could keep an eye on her. So after ditching the Camaro in a shopping center parking lot, calling a taxi to pick them up three blocks away and collecting his Jeep from the warehouse without incident, he headed for a fleabag motel a half hour out of town, on the fringes of Flagstaff, the type that nailed the furniture to the floor and walls to prevent anyone from making off with it. He checked them into a room near the office where he could keep an eye on anyone coming or going.

  “Gee, last of the big spenders,” Mara said as he opened the door and allowed her to go in first.

  “I’m thinking you’ve seen worse.”

  She gave him one of those knowing glances that made him unable to blink. “Much.”

  He closed and locked the door, then checked the bathroom. No windows except the one next to the door. Good.

  He came back out to find her turning on the TV. It was set to automatically air a porn channel. The room filled with the sound of sweaty flesh smacking, groans and moans. He watched her look at the bed behind them. One. A queen size with a ratty-looking dark bedspread.

  “Wonder what a blue light would reveal,” she said quietly.

  He stripped the spread off to reveal white sheets and the scent of bleach.

  “I’m going to hit the shower.” She walked in the direction of the bathroom, stripping off her shirt as she went.

  Good. He was hoping she’d say that. The quicker she did her business, the quicker he could get on with his.

  Ten minutes later she was out and dripping in nothing but a towel.

  His mouth went instantly dry and he nearly dropped the remote where he’d been checking local stations for any news on what had gone down at the sheriff’s office. There was nothing. He’d been hoping to see that the deputy and desk sergeant were okay…and the two gunmen were out of the picture.

  “Done,” she said.

  Her hair was slicked back and looked black when it was wet, bringing out the paleness of her skin and the green in her eyes and emphasizing the rest of her features to a distracting degree.

  Yes, he’d known she was attractive. He’d felt that white-hot spark when they’d bumped into each other at the airport. But this…the way she looked now, all dewy and wet, her lips full and plump, her eyes wide and full of sexy suggestion…

  He swallowed hard.

  “Are you going to get dressed?” he asked.

  “Are we sleeping here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then no.”

  Good God Almighty.

  Suddenly, what he’d had in mind didn’t seem like such a good idea. Not anymore. Not because it didn’t appeal to him, but because it appealed too much.

  She sat on the bed and opened the small bottle of lotion she’d brought in from the bathroom.

  “You need any of this?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Good. Because that soap dried out my skin something terrible.”

  Her skin didn’t look dry at all. It looked moist and soft and warm and all too touchable.

  Oh, boy.

  “You want me to apply some to your back?” he asked.

  She looked at him skeptically, then smiled. “Sure.”

  She held out the bottle.

  He took it, telling himself his hand wasn’t trembling because he was about to make contact with her, but because…

  Why?

  Aw, hell.

  He tipped a bit of the lotion out as she shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, moving her damp hair out of the way, revealing the tattoo he’d only caught a glimpse of earlier.

  It was a phoenix rising. A Mayan one. And the wings spanned from one shoulder to the other.

  “What…? Oh. The tat,” she said, talking to him over her shoulder.

  Jon’s gaze traveled from the sexy curve of her back above the towel still wrapped around her, up over her shoulder to fasten on her profile. Her dark lashes were lowered, her lips lush and oh, so kissable.

  “I got it when I was sixteen.”

  Sixteen.

  Her words served as a reminder of both how different they were…and who they were.

  At sixteen he’d been arguing with his parents about how often he could drive the car they’d bought him for his birthday. Tattoos had been the furthest thing from his mind.

  He hesitated, holding his hands just above her skin. He swore he could feel her heat breach the distance, tempting him in more ways than one. He found his fingers running over her skin a little too easily, making him forget what his intention had been the instant he’d seen her open the tiny bottle.

  But now he remembered. So he clamped the cuff on her right wrist, pulled it above her head, thread the other cuff through the bedpost then fastened it to her other wrist.

  Her answering laugh surprised him with its full genuineness.

  “Oops,” she said. “Looks like maybe I should have gotten dressed….”

  She hadn’t fought him during the cuffing process, but it stood to reason it wouldn’t take much to loosen the towel she wore. And the way she now rested across the bed, her hands above her head, her long legs crossed, lent a certain kind of sexy suggestiveness that made his jeans instantly tighten across the crotch. She moved and the towel, indeed, came loose, now dipping just south of a rosy-tipped nipple.

  “Care to give a girl a hand?” she asked, pretending an innocence he suspected she didn’t possess.

  He cocked a brow, then stripped the top sheet from the bed and covered her with it.

  She tsked. “Not what I had in mind.”

  He ignored her as he grabbed the car keys from the top of the TV.

  “What’s the matter, soldier? Never seen a woman’s breast before?”

  He eyed her. “You might want to consider getting some shut-eye since I don’t know when we’ll be on the road again.”

  Another shift of her leg and the sheet was down…and so was the towel. “I can think of something else beds are made for…”

  So could he.

  That was the problem.

  He left the room without saying another word, slamming the door shut behind him.

  * * *

  MARA FELT MORE TURNED ON than she had be
en in a good long while. She figured it was a mix of the earlier adrenaline rush, the protective tendencies of her captor and just plain having gone without for a good long while.

  Whatever the reason, her delicates were wetter than they’d gotten during her shower, and the rasp of the sheets against her bare skin when she moved was enough to make her shiver. She squeezed her thighs tightly together, wishing Reece would come back and finish what he’d started.

  When he’d touched her back…

  She caught her breath at the rush of need that flushed through her veins.

  When his fingers had smoothed the lotion over her skin, obviously tracing the outline of her tat, she’d nearly climaxed on the spot.

  She tried to reach for the towel, only to be frustrated by the cuffs on her wrists.

  Damn.

  She repositioned herself and managed to grab the damp towel and toss it to the floor next to the bed.

  Yes…that was much better.

  She snuggled back down against the sheet, rubbing her bare legs together so the friction added to the dampness. She wished she could touch herself, but then again, there was something delicious about not being able to. She rolled to the left, then the right, brushing against the top sheet that had bunched down around her waist. She wriggled until she could reach the sheet with her teeth, pulling it up between her breasts and working it so it was between her legs.

  Mmm…yeah.

  She didn’t know where Reece had gone or when he’d be back, but she planned to make good use of the time. She rocked her hips back and forth, pressing her pelvis against the mattress as best she could given her awkward position. Heat swelled over her in waves….

  She told herself she should be thinking her way out of her current circumstances. But, damn it, she’d been thinking about nothing but that for what seemed like so long, she wanted…no, needed, to think about something else for a little while.

  Besides, she knew there was nothing like a good, solid orgasm to help relieve stress and oil her brain cells.

  She allowed images to float through her mind.

  Bumping into Reece at the airport…

  Kissing him when she’d cuffed him back at the warehouse…

  The feel of his fingertips against the sensitive skin of her back…

  The way he’d looked at her breast as if he’d like nothing more than to lick it…

  Imagining his tongue against more than her nipple…

  She squeezed her thighs tightly together and gasped.

  There. Yes, right there!

  Yes!

  7

  JONATHON SAT IN THE DINER across the parking lot from the restaurant drinking a cup of coffee, his eyes trained on the door to motel room #3, the cell phone sitting on the table in front of him. The insistent drum of his pulse had nothing to do with the fear of Mara leaving, and everything to do with the fear of her staying.

  Never, ever, in the two years he and Julie had been a couple, had he felt such overwhelming need for another woman.

  Then again, Mara wasn’t just another woman. She was a fugitive. A suspect for murder.

  He took a deep breath, wondering why the information was doing absolutely nothing to cool his libido.

  But he knew one thing that would.

  He finally pulled his cell phone closer.

  Fifty-four missed calls, thirty-three voice-mail messages and over a hundred texts.

  All from Julie.

  Well, at least he was pretty sure they were all from Julie.

  He picked up the cell again and quickly scrolled through the logs. Wait, there was a call from Lazarus. He checked voice messages. No message.

  Damn.

  The call had come in around the time he’d been at the sheriff’s office.

  He absently rubbed his forehead.

  “Fill up?” the waitress asked.

  He nudged his cup toward her.

  “Sure I can’t interest you in something to eat?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Just wave for me when you’re ready.”

  He indicated he would and she left him alone again.

  There weren’t very many patrons in the diner at that hour. Maybe five others, most at the counter watching a TV perched in the corner near the ceiling. He glanced at it from time to time to see if there was any local coverage of what had gone down at the Winslow sheriff’s office. But it was tuned in to a national sports channel and broadcasting a baseball double header featuring teams he’d normally be following. But tonight, he barely registered the score.

  He sipped his coffee and accessed the first voice mail.

  The sound of Julie’s voice set his teeth on edge, even though she sounded calm enough.

  “Hello? It’s me. Just thought I’d tell you I’m fine, you know, in case you cared. Got the dry cleaning off okay. Back home. Call me the instant you get this.”

  By the time he got to voice mail ten, he’d had enough. She’d progressively gotten angrier and more accusatory.

  “I don’t know where you are, or who you’re with, but I just thought I’d let you know your dog pooped on my side of the bed then dragged his butt against my pillow. Your mom called wanting to know if we were coming for that stupid thirtieth anniversary party she’s having next month and I told her I had that five-year high school reunion thing so we probably wouldn’t. She got snippy with me. Imagine the nerve! I mean, your father died years ago. She’s not really married to him anymore. I knew she never liked me. Oh, and to top it off, I broke a nail, my regular girl wasn’t in and the woman who took her appointments completely screwed it up! I certainly hope you’re having a good day, because I’m not…”

  He’d stopped the message there and pressed the button to empty the remaining ones from the queue. If that’s how she was at message ten, he could only imagine what number thirty-three sounded like.

  He did the same with the texts without reading them, then put the cell phone down, staring at it,

  When had things gotten so volatile between them?

  He winced. Had Julie really told his mother they wouldn’t go to her party? Spoken for him without consulting with him first? Bettina Reece must have been shocked.

  While he and his mother certainly had their issues, his mom was the salt of the earth, the epitome of propriety. That’s why her words about Julie at a Fourth of July family BBQ rang clearly in his head: “Jonny, you know I’m the last one to say anything bad about a body, but…”

  She’d trailed off.

  “But?” he’d asked, giving her a hand cleaning up in the kitchen. Julie had been back in his old bedroom catching a nap because the day had been so “tiresome” for her.

  “But…it might be a good idea to leave Julie home next time you come for a visit. She doesn’t seem to like it here much.”

  He’d brushed off the suggestion, made excuses for Julie—she was in a transition from working every day at school to summer break, something or other having to do with her own mother, whom she seemed to bicker with constantly—and quickly changed the subject.

  It hadn’t struck him then what his mother had been saying. She wasn’t suggesting he not bring her home because Julie might be happier staying behind. No, she was politely suggesting she not come because the family didn’t want her there.

  Wow!

  He lifted his cup only to find he’d already downed the contents.

  He waved for the waitress to give him a refill and forced himself to clear his mind. He’d come to the diner to get a better handle on his professional life, not to review his personal one.

  Still…

  He scrolled to Julie’s number, pressed the button that would allow him to leave a voice-mail message for her, and simply said he was fine, that he hoped she was, too, and that he�
�d talk to her soon, hopefully tomorrow. Good night.

  It was only after he’d disconnected that he realized he hadn’t said “I love you.”

  That was telling….

  He shook his head and accessed the internet on his cell phone, logging on to the secure server for Lazarus and entering Mara’s name for a background check.

  His cell alerted him to an incoming call.

  Julie.

  He pressed the button to refuse it and continued.

  Another call.

  He refused it again. But this time, he suspended his online search and went to the menu that would allow him to refuse all of Julie’s calls, so she’d be put straight through to voice mail. Then he set the system up so he wouldn’t be alerted to any new messages.

  Finally he could continue his search.

  Two additional cups of coffee later, his stomach growled at him over the sound of his own buzzing thoughts.

  Mara Lynn Findlay, aka Ruby Gloom, aka Iona Skye and a host of other less memorable names, wasn’t a real person. She couldn’t be. Instead, her past read like something out of a fiction novel. Aside from two felonies she’d been convicted of as a teen, both of which had been expunged from her official record but still available to Lazarus sources, her criminal past read like a road map to a lifetime in prison.

  Or at least, to the crime of which she was currently accused.

  At sixteen, she’d not only gotten that tattoo, but she’d also been arrested with a handful of other rebels who were part of a well-known, southwest militia. He came across photos of her then, wearing fatigues much like those worn by the two gunmen at the sheriff’s earlier, and was armed with guns in much the same way. In one of the shots, she was arm in arm with a guy dressed the same, beaming up at him like the sun itself rose and set on him.

  He squinted, wishing his cell screen were larger.

  Out of simple curiosity, he did a background check on one certain Gerald Butler.

  The man known as “The General” to his comrades.

  Right. He grimaced. How in the hell had Mara gotten mixed up with people like that?

  Ah, yes. It appeared “The General” currently resided in a federal pen awaiting trial for crimes against the government and, shocker, murder.