One Wrong Move Page 9

  CHAPTER NINE

  Rayma

  Warm bubbles surrounded Rayma in the soft glow of candlelight. She held a glass of Merlot in one hand and a book in the other, and had been staring at the same page for the past ten minutes.

  What to do next?

  She was too psyched to sleep. Too tired to sleep. She had contemplated calling Caitlyn and seeing if she could come visit for a while, but her meager savings demanded she find another job, and soon. Despite the number of comments on her blog this morning, she couldn’t live on blogging alone.

  Beacon swatted at the bubbles for several minutes until he slumped in the corner on the other side of the room. The door was closed. Her cat wasn’t interested in leaving the room as long as she was in it with him.

  Rayma rested her head on the wall and closed her eyes, still holding her book and her glass of wine, when the door crashed open. She jerked upright and dropped the book, its pages soaking up water and ruining what she’d never read anyway. The wine spilled into the bath like blood, the spools darkening, disappearing, engulfed by water and impenetrable fear.

  Camden loomed in the doorway, more than six feet of brawn and pure intimidation. His finger to his lips shushed her, but her heart slammed so furiously against her chest she’d never be able to scream anyway.

  Beacon fled, but she couldn’t blame him for not saving her.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed when she finally found her voice. Shit, he was going to kill her. They sent him to kill her. She had no defense.

  Heedless of her nakedness, she snatched the shaving cream bottle and hurled it at his head, but it whacked against the wall. She aimed the shampoo bottle and was just about to go for the wineglass and a razor when he lifted her out of the water.

  He wrapped a towel around her body. Her pathetic weapons fell at his feet. She tried to let out a bloodcurdling scream, but he clamped his hand over her mouth.

  “We’ve got trouble.”

  She kicked his shins, fought to pull away, to claw him, all while trying to maintain her dignity. She only had a towel around her, for heaven’s sake.

  “Calm down,” he whispered.

  Weakness assailed her, and she didn’t have a choice but to let him carry her to the bedroom. She wouldn’t have been able to stand. He glanced around as if trying to find a place to hide, and she didn’t tell him there was a small attic above her closet. She couldn’t tell him, not when his hand covered her mouth so tightly she thought she would faint.

  Was he going to rape her before he killed her?

  He didn’t release her but did finally drop his hand. When she almost shrieked, he covered her mouth again. She tasted garlic and something acidic, almost like blood.

  “Someone’s trying to kill you,” he whispered. “You know why, so please shut up and let me do my job.”

  Your job is to cook, she wanted to say but couldn’t.

  “I’m trying to save your ass,” he murmured, “but I need your help.”

  Tears tightened her throat, and she swallowed bile.

  Tension lined his forehead, his eyes canvassing her room. He’d shut the door, so even if she did manage to get away from him, she’d have to run pretty fast. Her unfolded clothes were piled on the floor at the foot of her bed. She’d meant to fold them today but just hadn’t gotten around to it. She reached for something to put on, but Camden didn’t release his hold on her. A rummaging sound outside the bedroom stopped her.

  Probably Beacon. Who knew where he’d darted off to when Camden burst in.

  Camden’s fingers dug into her arm. His face was tight, ashen. When she heard low voices outside the door, she nearly collapsed.

  “There’s a small attic space above the closet,” she whispered, and let him take her there. Let him, she thought. I don’t have a choice.

  He pushed her forward, toward the closet, and urged her up the crawl space.

  She should have been embarrassed at the thought she was climbing through her closet to get to her attic, naked. He followed her closely, and she imagined her butt jutting against his nose. When she glanced behind her, she saw he was being a perfect gentleman. He kept his gaze averted and held up the towel to cover her.

  How could she fault him for that?

  Once inside the crawl space, she started shaking. It was impossible for two people to sit, so they stood side by side. Her cold body ate up his heat, but even that wasn’t enough to calm her shivers.

  She hadn’t yet used this as storage, hated to even open the door and see the darkness. Now, she was grateful for it. Her towel fell to her feet and she couldn’t bend over to retrieve it. She curled her toes in an attempt to make contact, but the pointless move only left her more flustered and afraid.

  She gulped in air and let it out slowly in an attempt to steady her pulse. But that wasn’t going to happen, not anytime soon. Her head spun. The shock of Camden barging in, the fear of someone out there, kept her pulse pounding. That, and the fact she was standing naked, inches from this incredibly attractive man, in a dark attic. His breath caressed her cheek, and the spice of his body had her craving whatever the special meal of the day was.

  “You okay?” he whispered. His hands glided up and down her arms, flooding her senses, flooding her with lust and fear. Fear almost abated her lust. Almost. And maybe vice versa.

  How could even be thinking of sex at a time like this?

  No, she wasn’t okay. Her body wouldn’t stop shaking, she was cold and she didn’t think she’d ever been more afraid in her life. Her breasts arched toward him as he continued to rub her arms, and his comforting touch became way too arousing to control.

  If he didn’t stop touching her like that, lust was going to win out. It’d be different if she’d never met him before in her life, but she couldn’t believe he meant to harm her.

  She gasped, a light, breathy sound, as she fought back emotions she couldn’t afford to feel with this man. Even if he was here to save her, he was involved in some dangerous shit.

  Things stirred against her skin that shouldn’t be there. The fly of his jeans near her pelvis. His thighs lapping against hers. She rested her head against the wall and longed to rest against his strong chest. Moisture from the bath dripped from her thigh, but it wasn’t just the bath that caused warmth to pool between her legs.

  And earlier, she’d been afraid he was going to rape her.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  His hands stilled on her lower shoulders, near her chest. “Someone’s trying to kill you. I heard them at the restaurant. I’m not here to hurt you, so please don’t be afraid.”

  Tremors wracked her body. She was in shock, and his warm, solid arms around her steadied her, comforted her, but she still didn’t know his intentions. Was he saving her from one intruder because of some plot of his own? How could she know he wasn’t just as dangerous as the men below?

  He hadn’t seemed fazed at all to burst in the bathroom and lift her out, naked. He hadn’t been winded when he carried her to the bedroom and up the closet. He was unruffled at being close to her when she wanted him so badly she was about to make a fool of herself in the dark, something she hadn’t done with a boy since playing spin-the-bottle when she was a teenager.

  Something hard pressed against her, and she realized it was a gun. A gun! Why was a chef carrying a gun?

  Then she heard noise below, cursing, voices she couldn’t understand, and she collapsed in Camden’s arms.

  ***

  Camden

  The glow of her body in the candlelight, with the bubbles wrapped around her, had almost been his undoing. For a moment, he forgot about the danger they were in and found a new kind of danger within her folds.

  Desire spooled through every inch of his body, but when she moved into him he realized she only needed his security, not his lust.

  He wasn’t a boar but if he were, he’d definitely be taking advantage of this situation.

  The fruity mint of her soap, feminine ye
t sexy, was meant to be relaxing, yet it invigorated his senses every time he took a breath. He flicked his tongue against his teeth in an effort to curb the longing to pull her in for a slow, sensual kiss.

  Flickers of light beneath them indicated someone was in the closet, snooping around to make sure she wasn’t hidden beneath layers of clothes. He hoped they wouldn’t look up and notice the small storage. He feared the floor would open up and they would plummet right into the man’s hands.

  He drew Rayma in close to him, whispered in her ear to remain as silent as possible, and held her, as if that would prevent the man from finding them. Her heart thwacked against his ribcage. She shivered, but the firmness of her breasts crushed against him almost did him in. She bit her nails into his shoulders as if to hold on.

  Her very naked body was pressed into his. Every time he closed his eyes he’d remember her surrounded in candles and warm bubbles.

  The candles were still glowing, the bathwater was still warm. The men would know she’d been there recently. They might not stop searching until they found her.

  He knew who the men were, he could handle them, but he didn’t want to ruin his cover if he didn’t have to. He couldn’t make out anything they said. He heard their disappearing footsteps, the slam of the door, and waited several minutes before he moved.

  “For assassins, they sure are noisy.” Rayma’s voice was shaky, but her words eased the strain from his body. He quaked as adrenaline left him. She was okay. He’d gotten to her in time, and his cover hadn’t been blown. The fact that she could joke about this told him she was stronger than he’d first thought.

  “They’re amateurs,” he said. “Practically just kids.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, nearly collapsing against him.

  He tried to fight the urge to taste the wine on her lips, but he couldn’t hold back.

  She was stiff when his mouth first touched hers, but she soon opened up to him. He cradled her face with his hands, leaned her against the wall, and drank in her longings, her fears, her desires. He thrust his pelvis to hers, his covered by denim, hers bare. Pressure built inside his limbs as he explored her mouth, her neck, her ears, and down her throat. His fingers flicked against her nipples, and he explored first one breast, then the other, his teeth nipping at her buds.

  If he had been five seconds later, she might be lying in a pool of blood instead of her warm bubbles.

  He drew his mouth back up to hers, and she returned the kiss. His hips gyrated against hers. He didn’t care that he was on the brink of coming in his pants. He should have pulled away. He should have opened his wallet, dug for a condom, and entered her the right way, but his brain was comatose. There was no way he could reason right now. No way he could pull away and be responsible.

  He knew the exact moment she came. The tiny fluttery gasp she made sent him over the edge. His own relief spilled out of him, the stickiness soaking inside his jeans. When it was over, she stiffened and pushed him away.

  “Oh God!” Her words weren’t said with ecstasy but with regret. “What’s going on?”

  He thought about being a smartass but voted against it. Right now, that would only piss her off more. “I’ll make sure they’re gone. You stay here.”

  It would be better to pretend nothing happened between them. Better for him to leave the attic, make sure the men were gone, and let Rayma get herself together.

  Better for him to forget what just happened up there, in that tight space with a naked woman. He hadn’t even had the pleasure of being inside her.

  She was scared, she thought she was going to be killed, and sex was a reasonable reaction to finding yourself alive. That’s why she’d responded to his touch, and that’s why he wouldn’t make a big deal of it.

  Camden searched her apartment and used that time to compose himself. Only when he was sure it was safe did he allow her to come down. While she dressed, he searched for the bag her informant gave her. If those men had found it, it wouldn’t help his investigation at all, and God, he was so ready for all of this to be over.

  He found it buried underneath the bed.

  She balked when he ushered her along the street to his car. “I have to check on Beacon.”

  “I’ll check on him later. I just want to get you out of here now.”

  The car was masked well in a sprawling apartment complex a few hundred feet away from hers. She didn’t give him a chance to even start the vehicle before ambushing him with questions.

  “What’s going on? Who were those people? Who are you?”

  He held up his hands in surrender, fielding her questions. “I’m Camden Alexander, those men were trying to kill you, and I’m trying to save your life.”

  “I didn’t see any men,” she said.

  “You didn’t hear them?” he asked, knowing full well she had. She’d shivered against him, and his arms still burned where she’d gripped him. The stickiness on his leg was a stark reminder of what an idiot he’d been.

  “Where are we going?”

  He started the car and drove away before answering her question. Most levelheaded women wouldn’t like his answer, and she was certainly not levelheaded right now. “I’m taking you to a safe house where, obviously, you’ll be safe.”

  “What!” It wasn’t a question—more like an expletive—and the words she began to spew out no longer made any sense.

  “You’re no longer safe in your own house,” he told her calmly. “You now have a contract on your head.”

  “Why would someone want to kill me?”

  “Your article was very condemning to a powerful business. Did you not even consider the consequences to your safety?”

  “I never mentioned any business.”

  “Didn’t have to. This man doesn’t like lose ends.”

  “Who? Darrell Weberley?”

  Camden didn’t reply.

  “What do you have to do with this?” she asked.

  He sighed, wishing he were already within the confines of the safe house. He didn’t want to tell her now. She could open the car door and risk her life, yet again—and his, once she knew his secret. But he had to tell her before she met Lacey and Moore, who would be more than willing to give their two cents.

  “I’m an undercover DEA agent.” His focus stayed on the road, but he watched her with his fine-tuned and well-practiced peripheral vision. She stared at him from the passenger seat as if she’d just discovered he was an alien from outer space. “The accusations you’ve made on your blog are true, and you’ve put yourself in a very dangerous situation. I’ve been undercover for nine months trying to prove some of what you’ve alleged.”

  “You’ve been undercover for nine months?”

  Camden nodded. “It’s one of the most controlled operations, which also makes it one of the most dangerous.”

  “So you’re still one of them. I’m still not safe. I mean, most people undercover that long usually end up corrupt.”

  He gritted his teeth. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard those assumptions, and it pissed him off. Why risk his life for something like this, for the scumbags he’d dealt with over the years?

  He parked on the street, wishing for the safety of the garage, but since he was the tenant, he didn’t park there. He knew exactly where each agent was positioned and even though they’d recognize his car, he gave them his special wave as extra identification.

  Rayma didn’t move, even after he turned off the car.

  “I’m not a part of them,” he reassured her. “I’ve been posing as a chef, trying to get information, but haven’t yet succeeded in earning Darrell’s trust. I’m getting closer.” He hefted the canvas bag from the back of the car and held it up for her to see. “We hope this will help.”

  ***

  Rayma

  Rayma followed Camden into the house with nothing, not even her purse, or a change of clothing, or her toothbrush. She wore an old pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, since they had still been on the floor and the closest
thing she could grab when she emerged from the attic.

  Beacon was still at the apartment. Was he safe?

  “What’s your name?” she asked as she followed him through the house.

  “Camden.”

  “No, what’s your real name?”

  “It really is Camden.”

  “I thought undercover agents used fake names.”

  “Most of them do. The last name and everything else is false, but I always keep my first name. Less room for confusion, and it keeps my sense of self.”

  Rayma snorted, which she realized wasn’t very ladylike. She didn’t care. It was hard to care about anything right now.

  They entered a kitchen, where a woman who looked like she’d just been dragged from bed sat on a stool.

  “Lacey, meet Rayma. Rayma, this is another agent who stays in the house.” He dumped the bag of intel on the floor. “She needs toiletries,” he said to Lacey. “Toothbrush, toothpaste. She’ll need clothes. Can you go shopping tomorrow?”

  “What is she doing here?” Lacey asked.

  “We’ll talk later. Where’s Moore?”

  Moore was even less friendly, and she thought it might be better to take her chances with the men who wanted to kill her rather than have these people as roommates.

  “I’ll put her in the spare room upstairs,” Camden told Moore, after he’d explained the situation and why she was there. His superior continued to glower with his lips cut in a straight line. Camden took her hand and led her out of the kitchen, dropping his hold as soon as she placed her foot on the stairs. Still, he practically forced her up the stairs with his palm now on her lower back. With each step, her foot dropped like an anchor. Heavy. Not wanting to move.

  He opened the door to a room, but she hesitated in the doorway.

  “This is where you’ll be sleeping.”

  When she didn’t enter, he stepped around her and went through the door.

  “I think I’d rather go back to my apartment.”

  Camden whipped around to face her. “Where you can sleep in your own bed and be full of bullet holes by morning?”