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“I don’t have a temper.” She was restrained. Hell, he was still alive, wasn’t he?
“Uh-huh.” Was that amusement she heard in his voice?
After a week?
She couldn’t help herself, she turned and looked at him and her senses went into overload. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. The leanly muscled contours of his hair-matted chest brought back memories better forgotten. Memories she had never forgotten.
The warmth of him as he came over her, his thighs parting hers, the feel of his cock nudging against her sex, filling her slowly, riding her fiercely.
Maggie shivered as her vagina clenched with a sudden spasm of hungry need, a clenching of lust as the heated dampness began to prepare her for a touch that certainly wasn’t coming. She jerked her eyes from his chest and lifted them to his face. Beard-roughened, the darker growth contrasted with the dark blond, rakishly cut hair that framed his face. The two days’ growth was nearly black, and gave him a piratical appearance that was too mouthwatering for words. It just made his lips appear sexier, more lickable. And she really wanted to lick them.
“Come on, Maggie. Coffee and breakfast. Then we can talk.” He held his hand out to her, the ice that had filled his eyes for the past week thawing, warming.
Maggie licked her lips nervously, feeling her heart racing in her chest, her nerve endings sensitizing. She rose from the chair, though she ignored his outstretched hand as she watched him warily. He was like a damned chameleon, and the abrupt changes were throwing her off balance.
“So where’s the prick I’ve spent the last seven days with?” she asked as she moved around him to enter the cabin, feeling the walls closing in on her as he stepped in behind her.
He had a habit of that, sucking all the space out of a room until nothing remained except him. At least, that was all she was aware of. The warm, cheery tones of burnt reds and soft desert browns of the living room were lost on her. The couch was wide, comfortable. Joe liked making love on couches. Floors. Coffee tables. Kitchen counters.
She stepped back quickly, giving him plenty of room as the corner of his lips kicked up in a grin.
“Same cautious Maggie,” he said, as he moved past her and headed to the kitchen. “How long did it take me to get you into bed the first time?”
“Not long enough,” she stated. “And I am not having sex with you again, Joe.” Yeah. Right. Her body was all in agreement on that one. In another second, the dampness building on the folds of her sex was going to start dampening the fleece of her pajama bottoms. If it wasn’t already.
“We’re sleeping in the same bed…”
“That’s not my choice,” she argued, as he glanced over his shoulder, casting her a wicked look. “You wouldn’t let me sleep on the couch.”
“Sure you can.” He shrugged his tanned shoulders negligently. “But it’s going to be an awful tight fit with both of us there.”
That was pretty much his stand on it seven days ago. She followed him slowly into the kitchen, admiring the tight contours of his rear beneath the snug jeans he had only zipped, not buttoned. Yeah, she had caught that little detail out on the porch.
“How much longer are we staying here?” She finally asked the question that had been hovering on her lips for days. “When are you going to give up, Joe?”
“When the Fuentes family is dead.” He padded to the coffeepot, lifted the carafe, and poured the liquid into waiting cups.
His answer shocked her. Before, his answer would have been once a culprit was behind bars, not dead.
“I just want to know how they managed bail,” she sighed, moving to the kitchen table as he turned back, the coffee cups firmly in hand.
“One of Fuentes’s lieutenants paid off the judge. We have the money and evidence in hand. Judge Gilmore was none too pleased with the offer. He could take the money and let them out, or his grandchildren could suffer the consequences. We opted to go with the bribe, taped it, and now have the money impounded in a safe location until it’s needed. All with Jose’s and Santiago’s fingerprints.”
She couldn’t have been more surprised if he had said he was Santa Claus.
“And that’s not enough to lock them up for a while?” she asked, amazed.
“We need it all, Maggie. We want them locked away forever, if they’re smart enough to live until the trial. I don’t want them out on a technicality. And I don’t want families murdered to get them there.”
Maggie stared back at him suspiciously. She had been questioning him for a week now, and he was finally giving her the answers she wanted: Why?
“If I’m suspected of being part of this, then didn’t you just put several people in danger by telling me?”
His gaze was hooded as he glanced back at her before shrugging. “I don’t believe you’re part of this.”
Oh yeah, she really believed that one at this late date.
“So I’m here why?” she questioned him as he set the coffee in front of her. “And they are still out on bail for what reason?”
