“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he muttered. “You might believe your company and everyone in it is on your side, but at least one person is your enemy, Pippa. Wake up and look at what’s going on.”
She held the breath until her lungs burned.
He was right.
Someone she worked with, maybe even closely in the lab, backed these attacks. They wanted her data enough to threaten her life, along with those of her bodyguards. They hunted her to the airport in Detroit and now to the West Coast.
“M-maybe I shouldn’t go to Seattle,” she whispered.
He swung his head toward her. “No, we’re going. And as many of my men as I can muster will be there to lay a trap. We’re going to put an end to this forever, Pippa.” He twitched his jaw toward her laptop bag again. “If you won’t let me smash the fucking thing, then you’re going to let my men analyze it.”
Seeing no other way around his demand, she nodded.
The quivery feelings he’d raised in her with his kisses on the edge of that canyon hardened into dark coals. Ross Wynton’s kisses made her forget her reason for being with him. It lured her into a false sense of security, and for those few breathless, heart-pounding seconds, she stopped being afraid.
They’d been driving for what felt like days now. Everything started to look the same. Mountains in the distance, snow and sky.
After an hour of silence, Ross said, “I’m sorry I had to break your phone.”
“I understand.”
“Usually the first thing a person ditches when they’re on the run is their phone.”
“Since I’ve never been on the run, I never thought of it.”
“Of course not, honey.”
The endearment trickled through her, bathing her with warmth.
“We’re stopping for the night so you can sleep.”
She studied his profile. Lines rimmed his eyes, from stress, fatigue or both. She’d caused those lines.
Minutes later they turned into a sleepy little town. She’d believe it to be abandoned if not for a random vehicle parked in front of the bar or small grocery store. The motel was as small as the last, clad in dark wood siding and the tan shutters lent a quaint appeal. A carved bear stood sentry next to the hand-hewn sign declaring a vacancy.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Somewhere in Washington.” Ross’s humor gave her the first glimpse of his old self since the shootout.
“That’s good enough.”
Roman went inside to secure two rooms. She hated how her heart beat too fast and her legs felt weak when she left the safety of the truck to follow him to the room. With two big men sandwiching her the entire walk from parking lot to motel, she felt much more important than she actually was.
While Ross searched the room, she sank to the bed and pulled her jeans up to inspect the wound on her calf.
Ross walked out of the bathroom after inspecting every corner. His gaze landed on her. “Are you in pain?”
“It stings a little but it’s fine.”
“Is it hot?”
“I know how to look for infection. Besides, that penicillin shot should kill off anything. Where did you get your first-aid kit? A farm supply store?”
His lips twitched. “We have our sources.”
They faced each other.
His eyes burned with anger unlike anything she’d ever seen before.
Shocked silent, she peeled off her coat and dropped it to the nearby chair.
He did the same, and his eyes never lost that flicker of fury.
She stared past him at a photo on the wall of two bear cubs playing in a river. Well, maybe she was mad too. At the situation. With the person pursuing her. And the fact several people had died now as a result.
She also wanted to slip into bed and find some escape.
Grabbing the hem of her top, she ripped it overhead and kicked off her boots.
Ross watched her a moment and then did the same until he stood shirtless and in socked feet in front of her.
When she reached to the button of her jeans, his hands dropped too.
“How long are we staying?” To hell with sleep—she found a new escape plan.
She slid down her zipper.
He was a step behind her, working open his belt. “Only long enough to catch a few hours of sleep.”
Staring straight at him, she shoved her jeans down her hips and stepped out of them. He traced her every move, his gaze locking her in place. Tingles zipped along her nerves, and her nipples hardened at the brush of his eyes over her skin.
He set his handgun on the small fake wood table and shed his jeans too.
Her breath caught. Facing the nearly naked man in her bra and panties unnerved the hell out of her.
“Why are you angry with me?” she spat.
His eyes appeared to darken. In one step he reached her. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her against him. Staring into her eyes, he rumbled, “I’m not angry with you. I’m furious with the people after you.”
Then he crushed his mouth to hers.
They fell to the bed. Grabbing her thigh, he pulled her leg up around his hip. His erection rubbed against her neediest point. As he ground his cock into her, she parted her lips on a cry.
He captured her mouth again, plunging his tongue inside to stroke across hers. Dark hunger gripped her. She was under the Ross Wynton spell. As a teen, it hadn’t occurred to her they could be like this…but some innate sense told her if he ever touched her, it would be primal and urgent.
It was better than her girlish fantasies.
Pattering her fingers over the muscles layered on his spine, she gripped his shoulders. With a groan, he rocked his cock into her again. And again.
“You better not stop halfway through like last time,” she warned.
He wore the same intense, dead serious expression. “Not a chance.”
He attacked her throat, setting her on fire with blazing kisses and the coarse stubble of his angled jaw. She squeezed her eyes shut, losing herself in the only man she could see herself wanting for the rest of her days.
He bit into her earlobe, and her pussy squeezed as though he knew the location of her button and when to press it. While she explored his body with her hands, she rubbed against him. The swollen head of his cock nudged her clit. His sharp groan rocked her.
Twisting her head, she found his mouth. They collided with a bruising crush of lips. Her core pulsed. Her panties were drenched.
Ross skated a hand over her breast, barely brushing her aching nipple—where had her bra gone?—and continued on. When he hooked his finger in her panties and pulled the soaking cloth aside, her heart trilled.
Gazing into her eyes, he rubbed his cock over her bared slit.
She shoved his underwear over his buttocks. “Take these off,” she rasped.
He pushed off the bed, biceps flexing by her ears, and stood at the end of the bed. Chest heaving, he slowly drew her panties down her hips and off her feet.
She stopped breathing. A glance from the man left her panting. If he didn’t touch her soon, she’d…she’d…combust.
Planting a knee on the mattress, he leaned over her. Watching her reaction, he worked his fingertips up her inner thigh and paused at her center.
Lines of tension formed around his hard lips.
“Don’t stop,” she rasped.
In one thrust, he stretched her with two fingers. Maybe it was three—she couldn’t think beyond the extreme pleasure of him fingering her.