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“Why would you assume I thought you’d kill the dogs? I just know they’re a good deterrent and with all the other noise, I can’t hear them barking. Did you tranquilize them?”
“No. I didn’t have any steak or tranquilizers with me.”
“Then where are they? Did they hurt you?”
Claire grinned, although she knew the gesture was lost on him as the ski mask was still pulled down. “No. I found two girls in the kennels that were in season. Like most males, they see something they think they can fuck, they don’t much give a damn about anything else.”
Fletch started to chuckle as he shoved her phone into the front pocket of his jeans. “You’re bad. You’re really bad. Ingenious, but bad. We need to get out of here.”
She didn’t follow him as he turned away. “I want my phone.”
“And I wanted to find you safe and secure at the cottage. It seems neither of us has gotten what we wanted out of the night. But then again, there’s probably enough night left that we can find a way to make it right.”
Claire shook her head. “Men are a lot like dogs. The prospect of getting laid just about trumps everything.”
He stopped and reached for her wrist, closing his fingers around it in a vice-like grip. “It’s a good thing you’re not right about that. Otherwise, I’d have you bent over a fallen tree with your leggings around your ankles and my cock shoved up your pussy, which by the way, could still happen.”
Jerking her closer, he pulled the ski cap from her head, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans and lowering his mouth to just above her own—their lips not quite touching. Her entire system came online like a Ferrari being fired up. She could feel her body purring as she looked up into his face, admiring his square jawline with its permanent five-o’clock shadow.
She raised up on her tiptoes, fusing her lips to his as heat and desire cascaded around her. She didn’t care that they might be caught; didn’t care that Evangeline had been trying to kill her; didn’t care that she had jeopardized his reputation. All she cared about was nestling closer to this man who was fisting her hair, dragging her head back so he could take what he wanted.
One thing about Fletch—the man knew how to kiss. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, waiting for her to open them and let him inside. The merest softening of her mouth and his tongue slid past her teeth, tangling with hers and making her moan. He was all heat and muscle and made her feel soft and delicate.
Everything about Fletch called to her, seduced her, dominated her. He tightened his fist, tugging on her hair and giving her the tiniest flash of pain, which made her nipples harden, her pussy weep, and the rest of her body sag into him. His hand drifted down to cup her ass and pull her more intimately into his body, letting her feel how hard he was for her.
He set her back, shaking his head. “One minute around you and my mind goes into neutral and my libido goes into overdrive. I can’t keep doing this, Claire. You’re going to get one or both of us killed or thrown into prison.”
“You don’t want to be with me?” she asked, hoping he couldn’t hear the anguish in her voice.
“What? Why would you go there? Of course, I want to be with you.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I love you. What I meant is that you have to give up this obsessive, destructive path you seem bound and determined to travel.”
“Why is it that I’m the one who has to give up something?”
“Because I’m not the one breaking the law.” He took her hand. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”
Fletch took off at a jog and when she followed, he picked up the pace. They made it to the brick wall, and he boosted her over before clambering up behind her. They both dropped to the ground below and Fletch led her to a small grotto where he’d hidden a Harley-Davidson trike. Of course he’d have a motorcycle, and of course it would be a Harley. Tossing her a helmet, he swung his leg over the trike, waiting for her to secure her helmet and climb aboard. He pulled out onto the road and headed for the cottage—keeping the headlight off.
As they turned down the drive that led to the cottage, they could see lights on throughout the house. It would appear that the rest of the team had discovered she was not there. He pulled up to the short stone wall that surrounded the yard and gardens, and he helped her off before stepping off himself.
Baxter rushed out the front door. “I’m sorry, Fletch; we just discovered her gone. I don’t know how she managed it.”
“She’s a master thief, Bax. Getting in and out of places without being seen is kind of a specialty of hers. Claire, go inside. Bax, get one of the guys to put the trike in the shed. If they find it, fine, but they don’t need to see it sitting out.”
Claire didn’t move. She watched him as he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a gesture she had come to understand meant he was tired, frustrated, or a combination of both.
“Fletch?” she said, reaching out for him.
“No, Claire; it’s a much longer discussion than one I want to have standing outside waiting for the cops to show up. Listen up, everybody, I want the lights doused everywhere but the main room. Everyone needs to take up their positions and look like we’ve been in all night. Mia? Claire? I want the two of you in bed as if you’d been there all night.”
He was in pain and knowing she was the cause of it didn’t sit well. Was this what it was to truly love someone? To know you’d do anything for them just to see them relaxed and happy? Fletch wasn’t perfect, but then neither was she. Couldn’t he see that their imperfections were what made them perfect for each other? He was the only man whose kindness and words of love she trusted. He told her she was gorgeous and intelligent, and she believed him. Had that all been a lie?
“Fletch, please…”
He shook his head before squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine. “I didn’t want to have this conversation out here, but as you seem disinclined to do anything I ask of you, I’m giving you an ultimatum. You either walk away from this obsession of yours, or you walk away from me.”
“The Clarion Necklace is the last piece. It was the last of the pieces my granda wanted to restore to the true owner. I promised him. I owe it to him.”
“He’s dead, Claire. He’s been dead for a long time. Promises made to dead men aren’t legally binding. I very much doubt your grandfather would want to see you killed because of it.”
