making her scramble to her feet to avoid falling into his arms. She caught her balance a short distance from Logan, then moved a few steps closer to him as she tugged to free her hand. “Really, my boyfriend doesn’t like for me to dance with other guys.”
The man’s gaze shifted from her to Logan, apparently sizing him up and finding him no threat—clear evidence that he’d had far too much to drink. “Aw, you don’t mind, do you, buddy?”
Logan’s smile was thin and amused. “No, not at all. Go on, sweetheart. You’ll enjoy it.”
Bailey shot him a killing look. “I wouldn’t think of leaving you here all alone, honey.”
“Nah, I don’t mind. Go ahead and take a spin around the dance floor. I’ll wait for you over there.” With his bottle, he gestured toward an empty booth along the far wall, then pushed away from the bar.
Wishing looks could kill, she watched him go, then turned her attention back to her admirer when he pulled on her hand. “What’s your name?”
Taking the question as a sign of surrender, the big guy smiled ear to ear. “Billy.”
“Well, Billy…” Stepping closer, she straightened his collar with her free hand, then brushed nonexistent lint from his shoulder. “If you don’t let go of me right now, I’m going to have to hurt you. Now, I don’t mind hurting you, but it’s just going to embarrass you in front of all your friends, and then you’re going to get pissed off with me and we’ll both go away thinking badly of each other. You don’t want that, do you?”
He gave her another of those long looks and finished it even more tickled by her words than when he’d started it. Ducking his head the necessary distance to bring his mouth close to her ear, he asked, “And just how do you think you’re gonna hurt me, sweet pea? You gonna do some kind of karate chop? Or maybe you got a nasty left hook? No, I know—you’ve got some kind of secret powers.”
Bailey sighed regretfully. “You really want to do this?”
“More than you can guess.”
Billy’s amusement grew with each moment that she considered her options. He had likely reached the conclusion that she’d merely been bluffing when she stomped her boot heel into his instep, kneed him in the groin, then kicked him across the backs of the knees, sending him crumpling to the floor in a groaning heap.
Crouching beside him, she bent to look into his face. “Satisfied, Billy?” she asked sarcastically before giving his shoulder a vigorous pat. “Don’t hold a grudge, will you?”
She ignored the curious looks as she straightened and crossed the dance floor to Logan’s booth. “Stand up,” she commanded, and to her surprise, he did. Taking a cue from his action that morning, she wriggled her fingers into the right front pocket of his jeans, searching for his keys, and he grabbed her wrist.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, applying just enough pressure to keep her hand still. “You want it that bad, sweetheart, just ask.”
“Give me your keys. And your wallet.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I’m tired and disappointed in you and I want to go to bed.”
“Go to bed. I’m not stopping you.”
“I want your keys and your money and your weapons to make sure you’ll be here in the morning.” She was standing closer to him than she’d ever been, close enough to feel the heat and the tension coming off his body. Close enough to hear the hitch in his breathing. Close enough to see the faint surprise in his eyes as the denim of his jeans tightened across her hand.
She glanced down automatically, unable to see any sign of his arousal in the dim light but feeling it just the same. Heat warmed her face as she jerked her gaze up again. Her throat had suddenly gone dry, making it impossible for her to swallow, but she tried anyway. “L-let go, and I’ll pull m-my hand out.”
“Maybe in a minute,” he replied, his voice silky, steadier than hers had been. But he did let go, let her slide her fingers free and take a step back. A moment later he picked up her hand, laid his keys in her palm, then added the battered wallet from his hip pocket.
“Now go away,” he said quietly. Warned quietly. “Leave me alone.”
She was happy to comply.
I’m disappointed in you.
Logan hadn’t needed to ask what she’d meant by that. He’d spent fifteen years of his life with Brady, who always did the right thing, the hero thing. Brady never would have walked away and left her with the gorilla. He would have taken care of the guy for her, and she would have been grateful for the rescue. Everyone Brady rescued was supposed to be grateful.
Well, Logan wasn’t into the hero thing and never had been. She was a grown woman; if she wanted to go into a bar, she should be prepared for whatever happened. Besides, she hadn’t needed his help. The gorilla had been eight inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier, but she’d walked out the door while he’d lain on the floor, whimpering and holding his balls. It was only in the past few minutes that his buddies had finally gotten him to his feet and out of the bar.
Not that it mattered whether she thought less of him for not intervening. Once he’d taken care of Mac, he would never see her again. She was nothing more than a necessary nuisance…
…who had given him the first hint of a hard-on in months. It didn’t have anything to do with her, of course. Any woman who shoved her hand in his jeans pocket and started groping like that would have brought the same response. That was what happened when he went so damn long without. While it was nice to know that part of him was still alive, he had neither the time nor the desire for anything beyond justice. Vengeance. Once he’d gotten that, then he could think about sex.
He finished his third beer and debated a fourth, but, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the day, decided against it. His eyes were gritty and wanted nothing more than to close and stay that way for six or eight hours, and he couldn’t take a deep breath to save himself. In his two years in Afghanistan and Iraq, he’d learned his physical limits and he knew he’d reached them.
Sliding out of the booth, he headed for the door. When he stepped out, the chill night air served to rouse him a little. Hunching his shoulders, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets…and found the room key among the change in his left pocket. Had Bailey gone to the office and talked the clerk out of another key? Was she waiting outside the room or had she headed back to the bar to find him…and run into the gorilla and his friends on the way?
Refusing to acknowledge the sudden chill as anything close to panic, he lengthened his strides and turned the far corner of the motel. The sidewalk in front of Room 17 was empty. Of course it was, because she was inside the room, tucked in her bed in that T-shirt and those ridiculously tiny panties.
He unlocked the door and swung it open, only to find the room empty. The bathroom door was open, the light off, and there was no sound but the hum of the air conditioner.
He was about to head back to the motel office when a look at the Plymouth stopped him. She had the keys to his car. If she couldn’t get into the room and didn’t want to brave the bar again, what better place to wait?
Sure enough, she was curled
