What would he have done if she had strapped on her handgun today? Hauled her ass to a holding area for interrogation? Her knife?—
She dug into her bag, her fingers sifting through the loose contents at the bottom. Where was her Kershaw folding knife?
As if reading her mind, the doorman—no—guard held it up for her to see.
“Sorry, ma’am. You’ll get it back when you leave.”
She didn’t care if Martin was paying her for overtime. He was going to owe her for this.
As she rode the slow, clunky elevator to the top floor, she wondered what kind of important paranoid people lived here. Pulling out her paperwork, she examined Martin’s chicken scratch. For a talented artist, he had the handwriting of a doctor.
Would she be able to see any of the islands up north from here? With a ding, the elevator doors opened into an expansive hallway, and she glanced around. Seeing no windows, she headed toward the only door. Guess she’d have to wait to see the view until she got inside. The building might not be quite tall enough, but she’d surely be able to see West Seattle and maybeeven Vashon Island. She wondered if the Olympic Mountains on the peninsula were visible. Sunsets had to be?—
“Goddamn it.” Although the voice was somewhat muffled, obviously coming from deep inside the loft, it still boomed through the cracked door. “Does everyone in San Diego have to follow every damn procedure like they were friggin’ boy scouts?”
A prickly heat started in her toes and rushed upwards with the force of a broken fire hydrant, burning her cheeks and setting every hair on edge.
Martin. I’m going to positively kill him!
“It’s open,” the voice called. “I’ll be right there.”
Like electricity in the air before a lightning storm, the atmosphere felt charged as she pushed the door wider with her foot. She stood frozen as heavy footsteps echoed on the planks of the wood floor.
“Have Gibson call me back, then.”
Clad only in a pair of low-riding jeans clearly pulled on in haste as the top of his fly hung open, Dom was towel-drying his hair when he emerged from the hallway into the foyer. “Martin, thanks so much for coming on short notice. I—” He hesitated mid-step when their eyes met, and Mackenzie could smell the cedar like scent of a man’s soap.
Wrinkling her nose, she tried not to notice his bare, well-developed upper body, the hanks of dark wet hair hanging in clumps around his face, and the ridges of his stomach muscles making a pathway into the waistband of his black boxer-briefs. No, she desperately tried not to notice any of these things.
“Mackenzie.” He expelled her name like an expletive.
“You.” Her voice sounded too breathy and the thin fabric of her T-shirt fluttered with her pounding heart. The memory of what he’d done to her on the terrace made her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She’d been intimate with a man—this man—though she hardly knew him. Many times over the past week,thoughts of him had invaded her head, and she wished he was more than just a stranger who’d shown her a good time. She’d wondered if she’d ever see him again but doubted she ever would. “I didn’t know...how did you—” Totally unprepared, she willed the floor to swallow her up and disappear.
She clamped her eyes shut, sucked a deep breath through her teeth and tried to get ahold of herself. Then it dawned on her. Was this what he meant by “not tonight” when they were on the terrace, because he knew she’d be coming here later? Had he set this whole damn thing up? Mortification gave way as a flood of anger roared in her ears.
Steeling herself for a confrontation, her eyes flew open. But now he was on the other side of the foyer. She blinked a few times, wondering how he could’ve moved so fast. With white knuckles, he clutched the wrought-iron railing and his towel-draped head hung down between the straining muscles of his shoulders.
Was he sick? Outrage dissolved into concern and she approached him tentatively. An odd sense ofdéjà vuneedled at her memory.
Her sneakers squeaked lightly on the smooth wooden floor of the foyer. She stopped and slipped them off her feet. “Are you okay? What just happened? I heard you on the phone. Is something wrong?”
He continued leaning on the railing and remained silent until she moved closer.
“Stay there.” He threw a hand back, and she hesitated again.
“I’ll just come back later, then.” She turned to leave.
“No.”
Dom held the towel tighter around his head, a desperate barrier between the two of them. If he’d had the slightest idea Mackenzie was delivering the painting, he would’ve been ready for the overwhelming force of her presence. How could he have missed picking up her energy trail? He’d assumed the knot in his chest was because he was so pissed off with San Diego’s ineptness. There was certainly no mistaking that she was inches from him now.
Heat from her body ignited his bare skin, while the rush of blood through her veins seduced the beast inside him. A familiar throbbing vibrated his gums. He bit down hard, but it was no use. Razor-sharp fangs pushed through, cutting his lips, and he was forced to open his mouth to accommodate them. With every muscle tensed, his body prepared to spring, straining against his will. He gripped the railing with such force that it compressed beneath his fingers.
She hesitated, he could hear the breath catch in her throat, then, with one final step, she was at his side, and impossibly cool fingers grazed his shoulder. A thrill surged through his body, yet calmed him at the same time and in the span of a heartbeat, the violent tension left his muscles like water pouring from a glass.
“Dom?” She dipped her head close, her voice velvety in his ear.
Her fingers caressed his back so subtly, like the automatic touch of a lover, and he doubted she realized her hand was moving. His fangs retracted, but he was powerless to control the needs of a man. When his erection threatened to emerge from the top of his briefs, he shifted his stance and Mackenzie moved her hand away.
