He smacked his hand on the roof of her car and she jumped. “You are not. Going. Alone.” As he stepped around the open door and into her personal space, his jaw muscles tensed below his earlobes, the black of his pupils expanding against the blue.
Not wanting to touch him, she stepped backward, flattening herself against the back door of her car. In this position, his scent was stronger than ever, filling her head and activating memories that were too dangerous for her heart. He rested a hand on the roof, just inches from her face, and leaned in close. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn’t remember if she had been breathing in or breathing out. He wasn’t going to try to kiss her, was he? Because if he did, she’d—
She stared at his full lips, recalling how they’d felt moving against her own, brushing over her neck, tickling the delicate skin beneath her chin and along her jaw.
Shit. He was talking. She blinked, tried to concentrate.
“I thought about forcing you to stop—I can and you know it.” He enunciated each word with deadly precision.
Her pulse quickened and the chain of her belly ring flickered on the sensitive skin of her lower abdomen. Their relationship had always been passionate; sometimes she’d been the one in charge, and other times he had. Clearly, he was taking the dominant role tonight, and although it pissed her off, it excited her on some level as well.
“I’d find him myself,” he said, “but my ability to track is a fraction as strong as yours. I can’t do it without you. My only choice is going with you and that’s what I intend to do. Give me your keys. I’m driving.”
No one ordered her around. Gritting her teeth, she pushed him away, thinking if she wanted to, she could grab him by the shoulders right now and plant a knee or an elbow in a number of tender spots. Force me? My ass. She’d taken down bigger men than him just for the sport of it.
“There is no way in hell you’re coming with me. I don’t need you or want you. Now get out of my way.”
“Lil, please.” The brittle planes of his face softened just a little. “If you’re driving, how do you expect to concentrate on tracking your friend’s scent? You’ll be faster, more effective, if all other stimuli are eliminated. Come on, let me drive. You just close your eyes, concentrate and tell me which way to go.”
She examined her fresh manicure and pushed back a cuticle. Her goal was to find Kip as soon as possible and she supposed it would be easier if she didn’t have to drive.
“My way is much more efficient,” he continued. “Come on. We don’t have time for this.” He snapped his fingers, as if she were an insolent child.
She was about to acquiesce—he did have a point—when this arrogance of his slipped under her skin again like a newly sharpened dagger. Digging her nails into the palms of her hands, she drew in a breath to calm herself. She was about to tell him to go to hell, but then Kip’s eager, young face, flush with excitement over his first few tracking assignments, flashed in her mind. Finding him, getting him back safely, was the most important issue. Not her past relationship with a man she used to love.
Fine. She’d table her emotions and put up with Alfonso temporarily for Kip’s sake. But one thing was for sure. Despite their past and the fact that he was still so damned attractive, she would not allow him to get into her heart. He’d played her once. She would not let her guard down again.
She fished the keys out and threw them at him hard enough to make a mark. With lightning-fast reflexes, he snatched them out of the air and gave them a jaunty little toss before he turned his back and grabbed the door handle.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m only agreeing to this because of Kip.”
“Fair enough.”
The leather squeaked as he slid his large body down into the seat, and he scanned the interior of her new car. By the time she’d jogged around to the passenger door, he’d reached over and cracked it open for her from the inside. As she climbed in beside him, the Panamera’s engine roared to life, a deep, rumbling, powerful sound. His fingers caressed the top of the dash as if he were familiarizing himself with an exciting new lover that he couldn’t wait to bed. She had to admit, he did look pretty hot behind the wheel.
“Ever drive a sport-mode dual clutch?” Her voice sounded a little too scratchy, so she cleared her throat.
He adjusted the seat and mirrors in such a precise, preoccupied manner that she wondered if he’d even heard what she’d said. “How hard can it be?”
Oh, this should be interesting. She leaned over, pressed a button on the console near his thigh, taking care not to touch him, and popped the gear shift back to center.
“What was that?”
“Turned off the sport mode and put it back into automatic. The dual clutch takes some getting used to.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her in a flippant, you-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about look. Figured. All men thought their DNA made them better drivers.
“I don’t have time to give you a lesson,” she said. “And I can’t be distracted wondering when the hell you were going to shift.”
As if his mere presence just inches away wasn’t distracting enough.
CHAPTER FIVE
“THIS IS IT.” THE MAN TAPPED a knuckle on the taxi window. A small, unadorned prayer box dangled from a hole in his thick pinkie nail and clinked against the glass. “Wait for me around the corner.”
“For how long?” the driver said, his nicotine-graveled voice sounding more like a growl. “I’m scheduled for a pickup in an hour.”
The passenger slipped him a hundred-dollar bill, the pads of his fingers brushing against the cabbie’s outstretched palm, and he repeated his command. “Wait for me. I’ve got another one marked for you when I return.”
The driver’s eyelids fluttered a few times and his worn expression softened. “Sure, I’ll be right up there.”
After navigating past a line of young palm trees and stepping over the uneven pavement of the walkway, the man stood on the front porch as sounds of a TV blared through the half-closed door. Noticing a scuff on the toe of his shoe, he stooped to brush it off, irritated when it didn’t disappear. He straightened up, realigned his black jacket and rang the doorbell.
He waited, then rang it again.
“Brice!” a female voice called from inside. “The pizza guy’s here.” Footsteps shuffled on the fake Spanish-tile floor a moment later.
“I didn’t order any damn—”
The door was flung open with gusto, creating a slight breeze across his forehead. He smoothed his slicked hair back in place as a man in a stained college sweatshirt appeared at the other side of the screen. The smell of cigarettes, fried food and beer-laden blood filled his nostrils. He pulled a handkerchief from his inside pocket, folded it carefully and dabbed his upper lip.
“Oh, Jesus. Ah, Father, what can I do for you?” The man pushed the screen door and held it open. “Would you like to come in?”
He touched the mandarin collar of his jacket. It wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for a man of the cloth, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “Heavens, no. I’m tremendously sorry I did not call first. I don’t wish to trouble you, but I have a simple request that had to be made in person.”
“Yeah, sure, what is it? Father … Father …?”
“Rejavik. The name is Rejavik.” With his hands clasped at his waist, he held a smile in check and tried to look pious. “You take on boarders from time to time, is