mouth swooped down on hers, and he kissed her with such passion she completely lost the rest of the thought. When she was breathless and clinging to him in panting need, he whispered, “I mean it. You … you’re … magic.”
She knew the feeling exactly.
He continued, murmuring contemplatively, “Would you think I was weird if I said I feel like I’ve been looking for you for a very long time?”
“Not if you promise not to think I’m weird for thinking the very same thing.”
Their laughter mingled as they stared out into the cold night outside the windows. She couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than being here with him, right now, in the relaxed afterglow of their lovemaking. She couldn’t ever recall being more warm and content than she was in this exact second. The peace of it reached deep into her soul. She would never forget this moment as long as she lived. It was perfect. Exactly, totally perfect.
Would he disappear come tomorrow, like James Bond? Would he give her time to become Danger Girl in truth? She doubted most people got even one moment of happiness this pure in their lives, let alone a lifetime of it. Was she greedy to want more? Not that it mattered. She already knew she wouldn’t be able stop herself from trying to hold on to him for as long as she could.
The next time they made love it was slow and lazy, filled with long kisses and intimate whispers. She savored every second of it, doing her darnedest to make a lasting memory of every millisecond. To wrap each piece of it carefully in her mind and pack it away in her heart’s treasure chest. It reminded her of what a honeymoon must feel like. Or a wedding night.
The thought gave her a jolt, and Jagger whispered against her collarbone, “What?”
“Mmm, nothing. Just random delicious thoughts.”
She felt his lips curve into a smile on her skin. He murmured, “You’re delicious. Entirely edible.”
She chuckled. “I thought we’d already established that.”
“Yes, but,” he disagreed, “we haven’t yet established how you taste with chocolate fondue.”
Her gaze snapped over to the fondue pot still warming on the table. “Oh, my.”
In the wee hours of the morning, as she lay limp and utterly sated, she curled into the circle of his arms and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, this was the one place in the entire world she’d most like to be. Forever.
She was home. Danger Girl had found The One.
And with that thought in mind, she finally drifted off to sleep, dreaming of naughty red shoes and chocolate.
Jagger woke up feeling more refreshed in body, mind and soul than he had in years. And the cause of it was buried beneath a pile of blankets with little but her nose sticking out from under the covers. And what a lovely nose it was. He smiled indulgently. Emily might run cold when she was asleep, but she’d been plenty hot enough last night to burn him alive.
To hell with caution. So what if she was a forever girl and he was a one-night guy? She’d become his AbaCo informant and they’d work together for a good long time. Long enough to work this fever for her out of his blood and get back to being the one-night guy his work—his life—demanded of him.
He spied an empty champagne bottle on the coffee table. He hoped she didn’t feel the aftereffects of the bubbly too bad this morning. But just in case, he ought to order up a pot of coffee. Except he didn’t have the heart to wake her just yet. It had been a very long night, and she deserved to sleep in nice and late.
Still, he could use some caffeine. He slipped out of bed quietly, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and grabbed his ski jacket. He’d just run down to the corner and get them some fresh lattes and muffins. He’d be back long before she stirred, let alone woke up.
The temperature had dropped below zero overnight, and this first day of the new year nipped at his cheeks and forehead with sharp teeth. The streets weren’t exactly deserted this Sunday morning, but they weren’t far from it. He jammed his hands in his pockets, hunched his collar up around his ears and set out for the coffee shop a block from the hotel.
He’d bet she liked her coffee turned into virtual ice cream with cream and sugar. He’d buy her one of every flavor of muffin, too—
Something stung him sharply in the neck, as painfully as a wasp. Oww!
He reached up reflexively to slap at the spot, and he lurched as someone grabbed him from behind. He reacted fast and hard, slamming his elbow into his assailant and whipping around to bring his feet to bear in the fight as his years of martial arts training kicked in. But his elbow blow was blunted by his attacker’s thickly padded jacket, and whatever had been in the needle in his neck was damned fast acting. The street blurred and swam woozily before his eyes. Crap. I’m in deep trouble here.
Something huge and dark screeched to a halt at his side and three more men leaped out of the van to surround him. It was no contest. His legs were already collapsing out from underneath him. Frantically, he looked around for help. Even a simple witness to report his capture to the police. But the attack had been perfectly timed. Not a soul was in sight, let alone within shouting range.
His vision narrowed down to a gray tunnel and then to a single pinprick of light.
“Emily …” he gasped.
And then everything went black.
Chapter 4
Two years later
Jagger huddled in the tiny room, hugging his knees, drawing the darkness close around him like a security blanket. At least they were leaving him alone more these days. That was better than the constant interrogations and beatings of his first few months of captivity. But sometimes, in the dark of this endless night, he got so damned lonely he almost wished for the thugs to come back. Worse than decent food, worse than a real shower, worse almost than freedom, he craved human company. Someone to talk to him. Just normal, meaningless conversations about normal, meaningless things.
But he doubted his life would ever be normal again. Eventually, he’d catch some disease, or he’d become malnourished, or maybe he’d just give up on living. Then he was a goner. And not a damned soul would know or care. He figured his captors would push his entire crate overboard into the middle of the ocean and call it good. No more Jagger Holtz.
What kind of life was it to have lived where no one would give a crap if he died? There ought to be someone to care. But that would’ve meant having someone permanent in his life. Like Emily Grainger. A forever woman. But people in his line of work didn’t do long-term relationships. At least not often, and generally not well.
If only he had someone to look forward to going home to. Maybe that would help him endure this unending nightmare.
He glanced at the hole he’d punctured in the corner of his crate when he was first thrown into this shipping container to rot. It served as his only marker of the passage of time. Darkness had fallen outside. Another day gone, which made this the seven hundred twenty-eighth day of his captivity. And that would make tomorrow … he checked the math and a bitter laugh rose up in his chest … New Year’s Eve. Again.
For
