LOVER UNDER COVER Page 17

  His mind said give her time to move away; his body screamed at him to hurry. When he moved at last, when he lowered his mouth to hers, he felt a shiver ripple through her. But she didn't pull away, and when his lips met hers she gave a tiny sigh that sounded for all the world like pure welcome.

  And she kissed him back. Not with the practiced expertise of others he'd been with, but with an eager, innocent hunger that was somehow much more intoxicating. And arousing. His body came to attention with a fierce suddenness he'd known only with her. In seconds, he was achingly hard and ready. But it was so much more than just that, and he wanted so much more. He wasn't just swamped with physical need, although that was powerful enough; he wanted it all, and he wanted her to want it, too.

  That tiny still-functioning part of his brain tried to warn him, told him that he, even with his considerable experience, was rapidly getting in over his head. But there was no way he could stop now. Not when he could taste her lips, not when the honeyed depths of her mouth beckoned, drawing him inexorably.

  And when she tentatively, hesitantly, almost shyly, flicked her tongue over his lips, he was lost.

  He clutched at her, pulling her hard against him. He felt her arms go up around his neck, felt her hands at his nape, her fingers tangling in his hair. And then he knew nothing but the hot, sweet depths of her mouth as she let him in. He traced the even ridge of her teeth, then plunged forward, no longer able to resist the lure.

  He stroked her tongue with his own, groaning when he heard her make a tiny sound of pleasure. When she returned the caress, still with that touch of shy eagerness, he groaned again, unable to stop it. She sagged against him, soft, pliant, warm. With his hands on the gentle curve of her hips, he parted his knees to pull her between them, knowing she would know, the instant she got close enough, that he was thoroughly aroused, and not caring; he wanted her to know what she did to him.

  The old, sophisticated, ever-cool man who never let a woman know she was getting to him seemed to have vanished, to have been incinerated, as if in the flames of her hair.

  He slid his hands up over her slender rib cage, slowly, stopping just below the soft swell of her breasts. She sighed; it was a whisper of sound against his mouth. He deepened the kiss even more, probing, tasting. And then he withdrew, maintaining only the slightest pressure on her lips with his own. As he'd hoped, she accepted the invitation; when her tongue slid past his lips and hesitantly brushed the soft flesh of his inner lip, his body clenched with a fiercely stabbing need.

  He couldn't stop himself—he had to touch her, had to feel that soft, warm flesh. His hands moved to cup her breasts; they nestled into his palms perfectly. Caitlin went very still, and he was afraid for an instant that he'd moved too fast for her.

  She isn't one of your casual affairs, he reminded himself. But he couldn't seem to move away. Or slow down. He'd never doubted his control before, but in this, as in everything else, it seemed all rules were off when it came to Caitlin.

  And then she moved, sinuously, pressing herself into his hands, as if she'd been longing for him to do just that. He stifled another groan, barely managing to keep himself from grinding his aching flesh against her belly. But as if she'd sensed his restraint and wanted to shatter it, she moved there, as well, shifting her hips in a slow, rubbing caress that nearly made him gasp out loud.

  He moved his hands, slowly, sliding his thumbs up over her nipples, thrilled to find them already taut and hard and waiting. He caressed them through the soft sweater, feeling another little shock of stabbing heat when she gasped in unmistakable pleasure.

  She moved against him again, as if in response to his touch, her hips moving, catching his rigid flesh between them and increasing his need unbearably with the exquisite friction.

  He was rapidly reaching the point of no return, and he knew it. He wrenched his mouth away, only then aware his breath was coming in gasps. He closed his eyes for an agonized moment, wanting more than anything else to sweep her up and carry her to the office and finish this, to ease once and for all the need that had attacked him out of nowhere, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

  When he opened his eyes, Caitlin was looking at him, her eyes wide and dark, her lips parted, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly, as if she wanted him to do exactly what he'd just been thinking.

  "Caitlin?"

  It came out only as a hoarse, barely audible whisper, but he saw by the flare of heat in her eyes that she knew what he was asking.

  The sudden rattle of the front door, and the raucous shouts of boisterous kids, kept him from learning what her answer would have been; reality had come crashing in.

  "I… The kids are here," she said, breathlessly, unnecessarily. "I have to open."

  "I know," he nearly growled.

  "Quisto—"

  "It's all right." It wasn't, he was dying, but he knew he had no choice. The kids were getting louder. But still she hesitated.

  "Go," he said, his voice still harsh. "I have to go see if my damn car's still out back, anyway."

  Wouldn't that just figure? he thought acidly. He'd have a stolen or stripped BMW to account for, on top of trying to beat his painfully aroused, clamoring body into submission.

  When she left his arms and went to open the door, he didn't bother trying to stifle his heartfelt groan.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  "Cordero's Grocery. Tonight. Can't give you a time, except after midnight. You'll just have to get the old man out and be ready for fire. And try not to make it obvious to the outside that you got a tip, all right?"

  "All right, buddy. Thanks."

  "And you don't know who told you."

  "Naturally."

  Quisto hung up, knowing Gage would do whatever could be done to keep the feisty old man safe and the damage to a minimum. And feeling grateful that the detective hadn't asked questions Quisto couldn't answer. Like how he'd found out, and what he was doing, and why he didn't want the Pack to know Trinity West had been waiting for them. But then, Gage no doubt knew those were questions he couldn't answer.

  And thinking of questions he couldn't answer made him remember the messages he'd found on his machine this morning, from Chance, asking what was going on. He'd called and left a message for his partner that he was okay, but would be out of touch for a while. And trusted that Chance, too, would know that he couldn't be more specific right now.

  It was after that that he'd gone to the warehouse and found plans to firebomb Martin Cordero's store late tonight in full swing. Carny was to be the wheelman, Lenny the primary thrower, while Ryan had been assigned the task of putting together the bombs themselves, which made Quisto wonder yet again exactly who this man was, that his expertise apparently included explosives.

  For a few minutes, he'd walked a tightrope, as Carlos rather sullenly suggested Quisto prove himself yet again by coming along, since it was in essence his idea.

  "Lo siento, amigo," he had said, his voice as smooth as his gaze was cold. "I have other plans."

  Lenny hooted. "You're sorry? Ha! I'll bet. And I'll bet I know what those other plans are, and they involve that hot little redhead who can't keep her nose out of our business."

  Instinctively Quisto's eyes flicked to Ryan, who was in his usual chair, and as usual carving a small piece of wood with that wicked-looking blade. The man's movements stilled for a barely perceptible instant, but he never looked up. If he hadn't been watching so intently, Quisto thought, he would have missed it. And he still wasn't sure what it meant.

  "So it is true?" Alarico asked, eyeing Quisto. "You are … shall we say, interested in the irritating Miss Murphy?"

  Quisto looked at the man for a moment. He read knowledge in the leader's hard eyes. He knew no one had followed him from here, but he guessed it wasn't unlikely that Alarico had someone—perhaps even Ryan, after he'd so chivalrously dropped Caitlin off yesterday—keeping an eye on the Neutral Zone and reporting back to him. He didn't
think anyone had been watching him in the alley, but he couldn't be sure. Especially if it had been Ryan, who he sensed had all the instincts of the most dangerous of predators, and who, despite his overpowering presence, could no doubt fade into his surroundings if he had to.

  But if he had been seen, his actions on entering the back of the Neutral Zone would have been a dead giveaway; he'd gone in like a cop. Or at least like someone with some training. And Alarico gave no sign of knowing that. Quisto decided he had to gamble that he hadn't been seen.

  "Let's just say someone should keep an eye on her, and it might as well be me," he said coolly. "I'm not known here, nor am I connected to you."

  "She knows you're with us," Lenny pointed out. "And we already know she can't keep her mouth shut."

  Quisto merely smiled, not looking at Lenny. Alarico studied him for a moment, then smiled back, luridly.

  "I believe Rafael will keep the lady's mouth occupied with other things," he said, and the others let out a chorus of whoops and catcalls. Ryan's feet hit the floor, and without a word the big man shoved his knife back in the sheath at his waist and whatever he'd been carving in his pocket, and walked out.

  "Now," Alarico said, rather avidly, "you have news for me?"

  Thankful he'd stopped at Worthington's office, Quisto nodded. He produced, with somewhat of a flourish, a mock guest list salted with a few names Alarico would probably recognize as some of the highest of Marina del Mar's high rollers. They were close friends of Worthington's, and had consented to having their names on the list as part of the ruse Quisto hoped he never had to go through with.

  Quisto watched the man read the list, saw his eyes narrow at some of the names.

  "The host is still the best target by far," Quisto said, plucking an imaginary thread from his sleeve. "His wife has a penchant for pretty stones. Large ones. But there are others of interest, as well. And they will all be at their modest little yacht club for this gala, leaving their homes woefully unguarded. We shall pick and chose for our shopping trip, eh, amigo?"

  Alarico grinned; it was a greedy, pleased expression. Quisto had counted on that from the beginning, that the man's greed and the urge to move up into a higher class of crime, not to mention the prospect of getting a foothold in Marina del Mar, would silence any lingering doubts he had about the newcomer among them.

  And it appeared to have worked; when he'd said he was going to begin to search out the home addresses of the guests, Alarico urged him on with a wave and an eager nod of his head.

  He'd been on the car phone to Gage as soon as he was out of sight. He just hoped the Trinity West crew was as tough as they were cracked up to be, and would keep Martin Cordero safe. The old man, Quisto had a feeling, would be more concerned about his store, and he was glad he didn't have to convince him to leave for his own protection.

  As for himself, Quisto thought, he would be taking up a position at the Neutral Zone tonight. It would enable him to keep an eye on things. Including, he admitted ruefully, Caitlin. He would make sure she closed up and left at her usual time of eleven, well before the Pack would make its run. He didn't care for the idea of her being there when the Pack was running an operation half a block away. Especially one that could easily turn ugly.

  He could just see what she would do—charge right out into the middle of it and probably get herself hurt, or worse. She liked and cared about Mr. Cordero, and he already knew to what lengths Caitlin would go for someone she cared about. God help anybody she loved; he'd spend his life worrying about her.

  And it would be worth it.

  To somebody who wanted that kind of thing, Quisto told himself, amending the unexpected thought hastily. Which certainly left him out. He had no interest at all in that kind of relationship, with all its ties and restrictions. And dangers.

  I haven't been tied down, I've been set free.

  His partner's words echoed in his head, and the look of sheer love and joy that had lit his eyes when he said them glowed in Quisto's memory like a taunting beacon. Chance had been even warier of entanglements than he was, Quisto thought, and, he admitted ruefully, with a lot more reason. He'd come through hell, and still he'd found it within himself to risk his heart again, while he, Quisto, had never really risked his at all.

  And he liked it that way, Quisto told himself sharply, jerking himself out of this morass of uncharacteristic self-reflection. Maybe he was a coward, but he still didn't like the idea of anyone having the power to make him do things he wouldn't ordinarily do, to change his entire life, to want things he didn't want to want.

  And that last phrase, he thought wryly, was symptomatic of his confused state of mind of late. And that kiss this morning hadn't helped any. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. He'd never been so swamped with heat and sensation and need so swiftly, never felt so recklessly aroused, willing to risk any cost to have her, even emotional cost, even knowing she was not a woman to be taken lightly in any sense. Even knowing she would never, ever play this kind of game by his kind of rules.

  If he simply wanted her, as he'd physically wanted any number of women in his somewhat checkered past, it would be easy. He knew how to deny that need if he had to, and he'd done it a lot more often in the past couple of years. But he had always been able to channel that need, had limited himself to women who understood how he played the game, to women who were in it for mutual enjoyment and nothing more. He supposed there had been a few along the way who thought they could change him, or who changed their own minds about what they wanted from him. But with Caitlin, for the first time, he found it was he who was craving more. Maybe because there was so much more to her. Or maybe just because she drove him stark, raving crazy.

  He shook his head again; that was a habit he was going to have to break, since it clearly did nothing to straighten out his thought process. Caitlin Murphy had really messed up his thinking. And the sooner this was over and he could get back to his real life, the happier he'd be.

  * * *

  Caitlin knew it was impossible, but she could have sworn she'd known the exact moment when he walked in. A strange feeling, an odd combination of heat and chill, had rippled down her spine, making her every muscle tense. She'd stood frozen for a long, silent moment, whatever she'd been about to say lost forever. Then she had turned around, and there he was. Watching her.

  As she looked at Quisto, a vivid, hot memory of yesterday morning seared through her mind. Unconsciously, she raised her hand, and pressed her fingers to her mouth, remembering the incredible feel of his lips on hers. She saw his eyes widen slightly, saw the sharp rise of his chest, as if he'd taken a sudden deep breath. As if he knew what she'd been remembering, and it did to him what it was doing to her, sending darting little flickers of remembered sensation along nerves that had leaped to life. And knowing that she was a fool, that he was a man whose reputation with women didn't bode well for any female silly enough to lose her head over him, didn't negate the sensation one bit.

  Her gaze was fastened on him as he slowly began to cross the morning-lit room toward her. As she watched him approach, moving with that controlled ease that spoke of the power concealed by his at first deceptively wiry build, they could have been alone, for all that anything else registered on her consciousness.

  He stopped two feet short of her. She wondered why, when what she wanted more than anything was for him to kiss her again, and she could see in his face, in the way his lips were slightly parted and his jaw was set, that he wanted it, too. But then his gaze shifted, his eyes narrowed, and she suddenly remembered they weren't alone.

  "What's he doing here?" Quisto asked her. He didn't sound happy.

  Caitlin glanced over her shoulder at the man sitting quietly at the bar. They'd been having a surprisingly pleasant, easy conversation, but now he didn't move, didn't even look up. But when he spoke, his words were clearly directed at Quisto.

  "Why don't you ask him?" Ryan said.

  "Because I don't think I want to hear his ans
wer."

  Ryan swung around on the bar stool then, facing them both, a half-full glass of soda in his big hand.

  "That's honest enough," he said.

  He took a long sip, his quick, dark eyes flicking from Quisto to Caitlin and back. Caitlin sensed the tension between the two men but didn't understand it. It wasn't just that Ryan belonged to the Pack, and Quisto was a cop. This was deeper somehow. Personal. She wondered if they'd clashed since Quisto had gone under cover.

  "He stopped by for a soda," she said quickly to Quisto. Quisto eyed the glass Ryan held, a cynical smile curving his lips. "I doubt that."

  "Are you calling the lady a liar?"

  "I'm just saying I doubt she serves your drink of choice, so since you're here, it's for something else. And I'd like to know what."

  Ryan gave him a long, level look. "No, you wouldn't."

  "Excuse me," Caitlin said, interrupting, "but would one of you mind telling me exactly what's going on here?"

  "You and I were having a nice quiet talk," Ryan said to her. "Weren't we?"

  Caitlin sensed Quisto's tension increasing, and again wondered what had happened between these two. "Yes," she said quickly, "we were. It was very…"

  Her voice trailed off as Quisto's expression grew even more rigid. "Civilized?" he suggested.

  Something in his voice made her think of a circling wolf, waiting for the moment of attack. Ryan made her feel that way, too, despite his quiet courtesy and the surprising easiness of his conversation. She had the sense of something under the surface, something raging and on the edge of violence. And it wasn't very far under the surface, either. She hadn't been comfortable when Ryan showed up, but neither had she been able to summon up the kind of fear she would have expected to feel in his presence, or the distaste she would have expected to have for one of the Pack. She wasn't sure why; all she knew was that, while he made her nervous, he didn't frighten her. And, despite his striking looks and fit, powerful body, he didn't speed up her pulse, either. She could admire him, acknowledge his obvious appeal and exotic attractiveness, but he didn't send her stomach spiraling down an endless drop.