Tori Carrington - License to Thrill

“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.