Pamela Clare - Striking Distance

Okay, so he was keeping secrets.

Laura showered and shaved her legs, a sense of anticipation humming through her as she tried to guess what Javier was up to. She dried her hair, put on eye shadow and mascara, then walked naked to her closet, wondering what to wear. If only she knew why she was dressing up . . .

She looked through her small collection of cocktail and evening gowns. Before her abduction, she’d had dozens. Now, she had only a few, each one seeming less appealing than the last. The dark blue beaded velvet dress she’d bought for the symphony was too much. The black lace dress might work, but it was short—great for happy hour and parties, but maybe not a formal restaurant. Her yellow silk sheath dress was meant for summer. That left only the floor-length gown she’d bought for the foreign ministry dinner in Stockholm.

She searched the back of her dress rack and found it still in the garment bag. She unzipped the bag and removed the dress from its hanger, her gaze taking in the richness of the cloth—black silk that was adorned with gold beading. She’d fallen in love with it the moment she’d seen it, but she’d never worn it. When she’d put it on the night of the dinner—her first public event since her rescue—she’d felt uncomfortable with the plunging neckline and the male interest it would bring. But now . . .

It had been a long time since she’d wanted to attract a man’s attention.

She walked to her chest of drawers and searched for a bra that could handle the neckline, then found the matching panties. The beading made the dress heavy, and getting into it was a bit of work, involving a hidden back zipper, lots of shimmying, and little beads that caught in her hair. But when she was done, the results were worth it.

She looked into the mirror and found herself smiling at her reflection, a feeling of giddiness running through her as she imagined Javier’s reaction. The gown fit her perfectly, enhancing her curves, the gold beading glinting as she moved.

She touched up her makeup, added a deep red lip stain, dabbed scent behind her ears and between her breasts—and then she was ready. Or she hoped she was ready.

She stood at her bedroom door, one hand on the doorknob, her heart beating fast. She knew she was safe with Javier. Why did she suddenly feel afraid?

Her mother’s words came back to her.

It is time for you to live again, Laura.

Wasn’t that what she’d vowed to do in that courtroom?

Subduing her fear, she turned the knob, opened the door, and walked toward the living room, her feet stopping when she saw. “Oh, Javi!”

He stood near the table wearing a charcoal-gray three-piece suit over a white shirt, the colors of the fabric bringing out his coal-black hair and brown eyes. His face was clean shaven, his hands in his pants pockets, a black tie hanging untied from his neck. She’d never seen him in a suit before, the sight of him taking her breath away.

His gaze met hers, then dropped, gliding slowly down her body and up again, his brow furrowing, the breath leaving his lungs in a slow exhale. “You look . . . beautiful.”

She felt heat rush into her cheeks. “Thank you.”

It was only then she noticed the rest of it—the scent of something delicious, the candles, Latin music playing softly in the background, champagne chilling on the counter, the bouquet of red roses on the table, which had been set for two.

She stared, amazed. “What . . . ?”

How had he managed all of this by himself today?

He walked slowly toward her, took her hand in his, and held it to his lips, his gaze locking with hers. “Last night, you told me you wanted to reclaim your life, to feel like a woman again, but you didn’t know how to make that happen. I thought maybe if I paved the way, it might be easier for you to take the next steps. But there’s no pressure. If we just enjoy a nice dinner together dressed in these very fine threads, that’s great. This is your night, bella. Whatever happens—it’s up to you.”

JAVIER SAW TEARS well up in Laura’s eyes, watched her blink them back, an expression of surprise and anxiety giving way to a wobbly smile.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” She reached up with one hand, caught a curl at his temple, and teased it with her fingers. “You look so handsome. I’ve never seen you in a suit.”

“There’s a reason for that. I don’t own one. This belongs to McBride.” He’d dropped it off, together with the wine, when Laura was in the shower.

“It fits like it was made for you.” She fussed with the shoulder seams, ran her palms down the vest, caught the loose ends of the tie. “Going for the casual look?”

“Yeah. Nah. I . . . I have no clue how to tie it.” He’d tried looking up directions on the Internet, but he’d run out of time.

“I’d tie it for you, but I don’t know how to do it either.”

“To hell with it.” He drew the tie off and tossed it onto the sofa. “Hungry?”

She smiled. “Starving!”

He drew out a chair for her, his gaze drawn to the gentle curve of her shoulder as she sat, the subtle musk of her perfume filling his nostrils.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. “You smell incredible.”

Watch it, pendejo.

It was important that he let Laura set the pace, and that meant keeping his hands and his mouth off her until she asked him to touch her—not an easy job when she smelled this sweet, her creamy skin gleaming like satin, the swells of her breasts . . .

Oh, no, he was not going to spend the evening staring at them.

“I’ll get our food.” He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a hot pad, and took the serving dishes out of the oven where they’d been warming. “I hope you like it. I slaved in the kitchen all day.”

He set the two dishes down on the table, tossing the hot pad onto the counter, his gaze fixed on her face. With Megan’s help, he’d found a restaurant that served a meal that almost matched the last dinner they’d shared in Dubai—roast duck breast, wild rice with mushrooms, asparagus.

Laura’s eyes went wide. “Where did you get all of this?”

“That’s classified. Champagne?”

“I would love some.”

“This is . . .” He lifted the bottle out of the ice bucket, glanced at the label, and realized he couldn’t read a thing. “. . . French.”

He wished he knew something about wine, about cuisine, about the classy side of life, but his expertise was limited to firearms, explosives, covert ops.

She smiled up at him, a glint of humor in her eyes. “Perfect.”

He poured them each a glass, then sat across the table from her, the surge of emotion he felt when he looked into her eyes making it hard for him to speak. “To everything you want in life.”

She raised her glass and clinked it against his, a telltale sheen in her eyes.

With a Spanish guitar mix playing in the background, they started on their supper, the conversation awkward at first. Laura complimented the food, the wine, the music. And for a few minutes Javier was afraid he’d gone overboard and had only managed to leave her feeling overwhelmed.

Then she reached across the table and took his hand. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”

He wanted to tell her he loved her but couldn’t. He didn’t want to add to her confusion or put her on the spot tonight. She had enough to work through without dealing with his emotions. So he kept his words simple. He kept them true.

“I would do anything for you, bella.”

FEELING WARM AND tipsy, Laura rested her head against Javier’s chest, her arms around his neck as they danced barefoot in slow circles. He sang along to the music in soft Spanish, one big hand at her waist, his other arm holding her close. He filled her senses, his body hard and strong against hers, his voice smooth and beautiful, his masculine scent as heady as the champagne.

Some part of her had melted hours ago under the force of this subtle but sensual seduction, her desire for him undeniable. Never had any man made her feel so cared for, so special. And still she hesitated, not wanting to start something she wouldn’t be able to finish. He’d said that whatever happened was up to her, but how would he feel if she got into bed with him only to shut down?

Don’t think about that. Just enjoy the moment.

She closed off her mind, determined to feel her way through this night, to let her heart and body guide her. She breathed him in, let her mind drift, savoring the experience of being in his arms, his heartbeat steady against her cheek, his embrace a refuge from the tumult of her life. Somehow her lips found their way to his Adam’s apple, his singing ending on a quick exhale as she kissed him there. That kiss led to another and another, her lips tracing a path up the side of his throat to the sensitive skin beneath his ear, his pulse quickening against her mouth.

But giving herself a taste of him only made her hungry for more. She turned his face toward her, drew his head down, and kissed him.

He gave a soft moan, his lips responding to hers, matching every nip, every caress, every flick of the tongue without taking control of the kiss from her, his restraint both arousing and sweet. She yielded, arching against him, parting her lips for him, welcoming the heat of his tongue. He slid a hand into her hair to cradle the back of her head as he angled his mouth over hers, taking the kiss deeper.