Willing Sacrifice

Page 5

He had his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, his back braced against his windshield in his reclined position on the hood of his battered Ford Ranger pickup. The jeans were classic Wranglers, worn down to that soft cling that drew the female eye to all the right points of groin, thighs and ass. Despite the covered parking deck, he wore sunglasses, which made it impossible to determine if his eyes were open, but she knew they were. She suspected they’d opened as soon as she stepped off the elevator.
Max had been working for K&A for over six years but had taken over management of the fleet after less than two years with the company. He oversaw maintenance of the vehicles and management of the rotating staff of eight drivers. One of his important secondary duties was being Dana’s driver, taking her to and from her job as assistant pastor at one of the local churches. Peter and Max looked enough alike that the other men teased Peter, telling him he’d provided his wife a surrogate for the frequent times he had to be out of the country, dealing with their Central American plant operations.
The physical features of the two men were remarkably similar, dark-blond hair and gray eyes, both over six feet and possessing a large-boned build wrapped in a lot of military-trained muscle. However, to Janet’s way of thinking, their respective personalities gave each man a unique stamp. They both had the discipline and strong moral code of many servicemen, but there was a silent core to Max, seemingly impenetrable. When he met her gaze, she felt pulled into that silence, and it wasn’t a bad place to be. A gray, overcast day, no break in the cloud cover, somber but comforting, like a blanket being wrapped around the earth.
She’d dreamed a lot about those eyes in the past six months. They’d gotten in the pleasant habit of interrupting her occasional nightmares, driving them away with their tails tucked between their legs.
The limo he usually drove was parked in its spot along the back wall, pristine and gleaming, the way he made sure all vehicles in the fleet were kept by the team he supervised. Though his older-model pickup truck had seen some fender benders, it was equally clean and polished. His sturdy, thick-tread work shoes were crossed at the ankle but projected over the edge of the hood, not making contact with the paint. He not only took good care of what he was paid to maintain, but his own belongings as well, no matter their age or condition. A woman noticed such things.
Music was wafting out of the truck window, and the selection surprised her. I’ll Never Find Another You by the Seekers. The poignant, innocent sound of it made her think of waltzing across the concrete with him, her hand curled on his neck, a faint smile in her heart.
Ever since Savannah had given birth to sweet Angelica, the idle fascination Janet had with the limo driver had grown far stronger. The man had been positively heroic, getting Savannah to the hospital under trying circumstances. It would have made any woman’s heart trip faster. But Janet knew he’d intrigued her for quite a while before that. That day, as now, she reminded herself she’d kept her distance for several intelligent reasons.
Yet here she was, seeking him out for something any of the other on-duty drivers would be happy to do for her. It told her she’d reached some kind of decision in her mind. It was an intuitive thing, not fully formed, which wasn’t the same as being impulsive or rash. She’d mulled it over for well beyond those six months, yet recently realized the reason she couldn’t get a clear sense of her intent with Max was because she needed more information to sift. So this was a planned direction, even if the road ahead was murky.
Matt had told her Max was a former Navy SEAL. After looking up considerably more specific information on it, she’d learned that meant he’d left the SEALs before reaching the twenty-year retirement mark. Even so, she wasn’t sure if the term “former” or “retired” truly applied to a SEAL. The quick reflexes and cool nerve he’d demonstrated the day they had to get Savannah to the hospital had underscored it. It was also why she knew his eyes were open behind those glasses, though he hadn’t yet moved. Not until she turned with purpose in his direction. Then he slid off the hood in one powerful motion, taking off the glasses and hooking them in his shirt. She waved at him with the folder she carried.
“No, don’t come to me. I’m coming to you.”
She issued it as a command, and he simply nodded. “Ma’am.” But he still took a couple steps toward her, showing he wasn’t entirely comfortable waiting for her to do all the work to get to him. She really needed to sit in on hiring interviews one of these days. She was fairly certain Matt Kensington had the HR department subject all male applicants to a super-secret chivalry test handed down since Lancelot’s days.
“Were you sleeping?”
“Just a short nap, ma’am.” He nodded at the folder. “Do you need me to take that somewhere?”
“No.” Though it had been her excuse for coming to him, she decided then and there she would send the documents to the bank with Wade later today, when he took Matt to his lunch meeting. She didn’t dissemble when it suited no purpose. “Max, do you dance?”
He wasn’t expecting that. She experienced a small spurt of satisfaction at the flicker of surprise, and amusement when it turned to wariness. “Not really, no.”
“I’m on a break. May I join you?” She nodded to the hood of the truck. “You made that look very comfortable.”
Actually, she visualized using his body the way he’d used that truck, leaning back against his chest, her body ensconced in the cradle of his thighs, her hand caressing one as she put her head back on his shoulder and they gazed at the rectangular panorama of the city. He’d be warm, she was sure, a good contrast to the touch of cool air wafting over the business district. She wouldn’t miss the sweater she’d left on her chair.
There was a reason she connected so well with the K&A men. She herself was a sexual Dominant, one who regularly enjoyed playing Mistress to willing submissives at Club Progeny. As such, she was direct with men, in or outside a club. Her senses were tuned to evaluate how they responded to the unexpected. Max glanced at the hood of his truck, then at her pale-pink silk suit, his gaze lingering on her stocking-clad legs revealed by the just-above-the-knee hem. The short slit in the back offered a glimpse of her thigh, which she knew was what had caught Randall’s eye. She dressed for business, but she also thoroughly enjoyed being an attractive middle-aged woman. She had no problem highlighting her better features within the tasteful boundaries of professionalism.
“I’ll need a boost,” she said. “And you’ll need to take off my shoes once I’m there so they don’t scratch your truck. Of course, you still haven’t said whether you mind ten minutes of company.”
“I’m just trying to keep up, ma’am.” He had a little bit of a Texas drawl, just like Matt. It was entrancing. “Why did you want to know if I dance?”
“I teach a ballet class for teenagers at the community center. We don’t have any male dancers at the moment, and the girls want to learn some basic lifts. When a dancer first starts learning lifts, confidence in the strength of your lifter helps you focus on your form. You seem more than capable of lifting teenage girls. But it does require some grace and agility, which is why I asked about the dancing.”
She gave him a critical look. “You move well, though, so even if you don’t have any dance training, I think it will still work. If you’re willing, it pays nothing, and it will take up a night of your time. Given your looks, I’m sure it will also gain you the slavish adoration of a dozen underage girls. While I promise not to give them your social networking links, I can’t guarantee they won’t find them anyhow. A fourteen-year-old has ways of ferreting out information the CIA only wishes they knew.”
Putting the folder on the hood, she held out her hands. “Want to prove you can lift something heavier than a teenager?”
“If I see something that is, I’ll do that, ma’am.”
She chuckled. “Charm serves a man well, Max.” She kept her arms out. She knew he couldn’t let her stand that way for long without it becoming awkward or embarrassing for her, at least to his way of thinking. Sure enough, within a blink, he stepped forward to close the distance between them. When his hands settled on her waist, he met her gaze. If he’d wanted to keep it more impersonal, he wouldn’t have done that, so that alone gave her another intriguing piece of information about where this might go.
First intentional physical contact was a critical sensation, where she logged her own reaction as much as his. Heat swept out from where his hands closed over her waist. She felt the strength in his restrained power, saw the biceps flex as he tightened the grip and prepared to lift her. Then he stopped himself. “Hold on a moment.” Releasing her to open the truck’s door, he twisted his upper torso to reach behind the front seat. He came back with a rolled-up quilt in a brown-and-green camouflage pattern. He untied the straps, folded it into a rectangular cushion and put it on the hood where he’d been about to place her.
“It’s clean enough for me, but not that.” He nodded to the pastel color of her suit. “I don’t want you to get anything on it.”
She didn’t think there was a speck of dust on the truck, but she appreciated the consideration. Now he lifted her. She’d expected his display of easy strength, but her reaction when it swept through all her nerve endings startled her. During that effortless suspension, short as it was, she was catapulted to a memory of lights, a crowd’s breathless attention as she bounded lightly across the stage, leaping into the capable hands of her partner, who lifted her high above his head.
Jorge had given her that moment. She couldn’t deny that gift. He’d also been the one to take it all away.
“Ma’am?”
She opened her eyes, realized she’d simply gone away, too much like that night in the hospital bathroom. Her hands were gripping his on her waist, nails digging into his skin. He’d put her on the truck hood, on the quilt. His hard abdomen was pressed against her knees as he held on to her, obviously not wanting to let her go until he was sure she was all right. Maybe for other reasons too, but it was a little too soon for that. She wasn’t given to fanciful romanticizing. Then she thought about how she’d imagined lying inside his embrace on top of the truck and realized he’d already taken her down that road. Men didn’t usually do that to her. Not anymore.