them had increased each and every time he was anywhere near her. He should have ignored it. Ignored her. He had no business making a move on a woman, any woman, until he got his life back. But he couldn’t seem to resist her. Kissing her had probably been inevitable. And it had shaken him to the core.
In his mind, Jed let himself drift back to the moment. She’d certainly been willing. The moment he’d brushed his mouth over hers, her lips had parted in a welcoming invitation. When she’d risen on her toes to close the distance between them, he’d taken his first sample of her taste.
Oh, she’d been so much sweeter than he’d expected. Even sweeter than the sugar cookies he used to swipe from his mom as fast as she could make them. He’d barely absorbed her flavor when her breath had shuddered out, and the sound of her surrender had nearly sliced right through his control. Then, in the next instant, her hands had gripped his T-shirt and she’d demanded, “More.”
It was that sudden irrefutable proof of the bright passion that lay beneath the surface of Zoë McNamara, struggling to be free, that nearly shattered him.
Oh, how he’d wanted to forget where they were and touch her. He’d wanted her out of that oversize man’s shirt and that skirt. He’d wanted to strip away the practical underwear he knew was underneath.
The desire to use his hands on her, to let his fingers and palms explore her skin, molding every inch of her, had become a knife-sharp ache.
An image had filled his mind of taking her right where they stood. The music was loud enough, the palms thick enough to conceal them. He’d pictured it so clearly in his mind—her legs wrapped around him, her back pressed against the brick wall as he took that first hot, wet slide into her. It would have been wild, reckless, and wonderful. He was skilled enough and she’d been ready.
He still wasn’t sure what had given him the strength to pull back. He suspected that it had something to do with his carefully honed survival instinct, and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with that explanation.
What he was sure of was that when he’d learned she was coming today to deliver some research to Sierra, he’d stuffed a couple of condoms in his shorts pocket. In case he got lucky? Or in case this time he wouldn’t be able to control himself? Either way, that one small action of making sure they would have protection clearly revealed just how much of a pull the woman had on him.
In the days since that kiss, he’d done some research on her. She was the daughter of two very highly acclaimed professors, and from what he’d gathered, she’d been a sort of joint project of theirs, a highly intelligent child that they’d pushed and prodded, supervising every aspect of her education. Each of them had published articles about her.
He thought of his own happily married parents and his kid sister, and all the fun they’d had growing up. He suspected that in comparison, Zoë had had a very lonely childhood as well as a highly pressured one.
Her academic credentials were certainly impressive, and Sierra raved about her work. It was the two months she’d spent as a data analyst at the CIA that had surprised him. She’d resigned shortly before he’d been “terminated,” and her short tenure there had given him his first clue that the real Zoë McNamara might be a sharp right turn from the academic nerd she so carefully projected to the people around her.
The kiss they’d shared certainly provided evidence of that. Maybe it was the contrast that fascinated him so.
With a sigh, Jed shifted again in the hammock. He shouldn’t be thinking of Zoë McNamara. He shouldn’t be thinking of the fact that she’d be here in a short time. Or of the fact that he had condoms in his pocket. Nevertheless, his lips curved in a grin. In the past few days, he’d created some very interesting fantasies about Sierra’s little assistant, some of them in this very hammock. Sex in a hammock called for invention and ingenuity, but it was invariably worth it.
A muffled crash came from the houseboat. Lifting his baseball cap, Jed flicked a glance in that direction. Speaking of sex…
Jed sighed again. He really had to get on with his life. He was growing tired of feeling like a third wheel now that his host and old friend had forged a solid relationship with Sierra Gibbs. She was spending more and more time on the houseboat, and he tried to give them privacy. In deference to his presence, they retired pretty frequently to Ryder’s cabin, but it was clear he was restricting their freedom of sexual expression.
He had to do something and soon. It wasn’t just boredom or restlessness motivating him. It was also that slim possibility that Bailey Montgomery, his would-be assassin, had spotted him at that party.
And there’d been something else that had occurred on the night he’d kissed Zoë. After the party, he and Ryder and Sierra had driven her home, and he was pretty sure that they’d been followed by a dark-colored car—a van or an SUV. It hadn’t gotten close enough for him to be sure. He’d been driving Ryder’s car, and it hadn’t taken much to lose the tail. He’d delayed telling Ryder this weekend because Sierra was here, but he was going to have to tell him soon.
Maybe his best strategy was to make the first move. What did he have to lose if Bailey Montgomery already knew he was alive?
Jed pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes to block out the sun. It was a big if, but certainly worth considering. In the meantime, he was going to take a nap. In some of the toughest situations he’d found himself in, he’d always relied on his subconscious mind to come up with a plan.
He hoped it wouldn’t fail him now.
3
ZOË BRAKED HER MIATA to a stop, then peered at Sierra’s directions. Ahead of her was a houseboat, white with green shutters just as Sierra had described it. To the right was Ryder Kane’s sporty red convertible. Sufficiently reassured that she’d finally arrived at her destination, she climbed out of the car, lifted the box of note cards from behind the driver’s seat and walked toward the boat.
Nerves knotted in her stomach, but she made herself put one foot in front of the other. The time for analysis was over. She was going to act. She should feel relieved instead of feeling like Joan of Arc climbing up her funeral pyre.
She was ten feet away from the houseboat when she heard a muffled moan. Dropping the box, she raced forward, but when she heard the second moan, louder this time, she stopped short. The third moan was longer and accompanied by a rapping sound as if something was bumping against the wall in a steady rhythm. Zoë was pretty sure that no one was in trouble or pain. Chances were good that Sierra and Ryder were making love.
And she’d been about to break in on them. Not her best move under the circumstances. As the rhythm of the rapping noise increased and she realized that she was just standing there eavesdropping, she turned and hurried back to the box she’d dropped.
Dropping to her knees, she began to gather up the note cards that had fallen out of the box. But in one part of her mind, she was picturing what Ryder and Sierra were doing, and the images triggered a hot lick of lust inside of her.
Pushing the mental pictures away, she focused on the note cards. Sierra used blue ones and hers were white. Methodically she began sorting them into two piles. But the images slipped back into her mind—only this time, it wasn’t Ryder and Sierra that she saw. It was Jed Calhoun and herself, limbs entwined, bodies locked and moving in that quickly escalating rhythm that she was listening to. Heat flooded through her with such intensity that for a moment, she thought she just might melt into a pool on the ground. So vivid were the pictures in her mind that she could almost
