In the Arms of Danger Read online

  Tossing the sheet and blanket up to cover her, he returned to his perch on the windowsill. With a glance at the girl’s closed eyes, he scraped a hand over the fly of his denims as he shifted his hips. He shut the window, figuring the room was cool enough that he wasn’t going to nod off. With a sigh, he jammed one booted foot inside the window embrasure, halfway up the jamb, letting his other foot hang inside the room. His cock was a nasty hard line of need and he rearranged his shaft then rubbed it a few times while he watched the girl on the bed.

  * * * * *

  Dicky started awake with the gray sun in his eyes, his forehead pressed against the cold glass of the window. Alarmed, his eyes shot around the room. The bedside clock indicated he’d slept all of ten minutes. Stretching, he twisted to take a good, long look at the bed, and the young woman sleeping on it. As he fished numbly for his cigarettes, he slipped off the windowsill and scuffed his way to the end of the bed, tipping his head so he could better focus on the slender form stretched out on the white sheets.

  She’d kicked her bedding off in the night. Small, dainty feet tipped the end of pale, slender legs. The thin wisp of pink she wore as underpants barely covered her mound. A pretty puff of gold curls spilled provocatively from the top edge of her panties. Her hips and waist made a shallow S-curve that wound its way toward her T-shirt. And her T-shirt! There wasn’t much of it to begin with! In her sleep, it had retreated high into the hills. Her small breasts were half-moons displayed below the white edge of her shirt. When she breathed, every time she pulled in a breath, he caught a stunning glimpse of fresh, pink areole.

  Dicky’s throat dried as he quit fumbling in his pocket and reached for the top of his denims. He knew what he was going to do when he plucked open the top button. He knew what he was going to do when he pulled down the zipper. His trousers slid down his legs as he shrugged his coat off his shoulders. His T-shirt came over his head as he took a step toward her. He knew what he was going to do. He knew it wasn’t right. But he knew he was going to do it. And he was going to do it to her.

  With his breath on hold, he put a knee on the bed and stretched out beside her as he reached for the half-exposed swell of her breasts. She woke as his thumbs were brushing across the tiny imperfections on her perfect areolas. As she opened her eyes, he saw his own scorching hunger reflected in her turquoise gaze. Scorching hunger and warm longing.

  The door smashed open and Dicky rolled. Clutching the girl’s arms he took her with him. They hit the floor together as a thunking sound came from the bed—the dull thud of bullets plowing through the mattress and drilling into the floor beneath.

  Silencer, Dicky recognized immediately.

  Thrusting the girl to the floor, he jumped into a squat and shoved at the bed as he ducked. The bed crashed into the intruder’s shins and the next shot went wild. In the next instant, Dicky had the small wooden chair in his hand and was swinging it as he leapt onto the bed. The chair thudded and crunched several times and finally splintered before the intruder slumped backward on the wall now flecked with stringers of shining, wet scarlet.

  There were two more thunks and two small, neat, dark spots appeared in the ceiling. The gun clattered and scraped across the wooden floor as the girl scrambled for it, got her hands around it, and jumped to stand with both hands wrapped around the gun’s butt, her finger on the trigger.

  At the same time, Dicky tossed aside the fragment of chair remaining in his fist and reached for the table lamp, smashing away both shade and bulb. As it arced toward the man, the terrorist pushed away from the wall and staggered through the door. The lamp’s heavy metal base slammed into the now-empty space on the wall as Dicky cursed.

  Turning, panting, he faced the girl.

  Arms outstretched, she held the gun in two steady hands, pointed at the door. Her pupils were large and dark, her nostrils flared as her small breasts lifted her T-shirt in short, rapid gasps.

  “What were you going to do with that?” he asked her, blinking at the gun.

  She shot him a brief, dirty look. “I’m an American,” she stated. “I know how to use a gun.” Her eyes slid down to his cock, stretched out—long but not quite stiff. “What were you going to do with that?”

  He followed her eyes to his cock and smiled slowly. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s not loaded.” He pointed at the gun. “What about that?”

  She flicked the safety on and handed him the weapon.

  Dropping to sit on the bed, he pulled out the clip then returned it. “Three rounds left.”

  “He tried to kill you,” she said slowly, as though the idea had just caught up to her. “Is…everyone in this city out to get you?”

  His mouth straightened into a tight line before he grunted. “Everyone but him. He was after you.”

  “Me?”

  “He followed us from The Swan. I assumed he was after me, at first. But, after I left you at the front door, he was still here, watching the inn. At that point, I realized it was you he was after.”

  “You knew he was—but why didn’t you tell me?”

  He glanced up at her. “You wouldn’t have slept.”

  “I wouldn’t have—”

  “And you looked like you needed it.”

  “But—”

  He silenced her question with a cutting glance.

  “But…why me? Why is someone following me?”

  “Don’t you know?” When he took in her stunned expression, he pushed out an impatient sigh. “That man at the docks you saw?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Apparently, he saw you.”

  Her eyes widened as she stared at him, disbelief on her face. “But that wasn’t the man from the docks.”

  “And that makes you feel better?” he asked cynically. “There’s more than one of them. And they’re after you.” When she continued to stare, he sighed. “You don’t believe me,” he stated, his voice critical.

  “No. No,” she said uncertainly, carefully. “I believe you. But…”

  “You’d rather not,” he finished for her.

  She nodded. “I’d definitely rather not,” she murmured.

  He smiled at her, dropped his eyes to her toes before lifting them slowly to her face. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

  She gave him a tiny grin. “I won’t tell you what you look like.”

  “I know what I look like,” he answered her gruffly. “I look horny. But that’s only because I am.” He blew out a sigh as he reached for his denims on the floor. “Let’s get out of here before the…before they make us pay for the damage.”

  “Shouldn’t we contact the police?”

  “We will,” he told her shortly. “But first things first.” He tucked the gun into the front of his trousers. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “I’m American,” she ventured slowly, when he threw her denims at her. “But what’s your excuse?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked as he stretched his T-shirt over his head.

  “I didn’t think there were many guns in the UK.” She hesitated. “But you seem pretty comfortable with that thing.”

  He nodded as he mulled her question. Finally he shrugged. “We watch a lot of American television,” he finally offered.

  She opened her mouth.

  “C’mon,” he pressed her impatiently as he pulled on his coat, “get those trousers on. Let’s get out of here.”

  * * * * *

  Guiding Julie through Liverpool’s busy streets, Dicky pulled her up short next to a red, cylindrical mailbox. Across the road stood the gray brick police station. Turning, he grabbed a napkin from a pastry stall. “Do you have a pen?”

  Automatically, she fished in her backpack, relieved that he was apparently going to leave her with some sort of contact information.

  He stepped away to use the top of the mailbox. “Listen. There’s a man in there.” He flicked his head in the direction of the police station across the road. “His name is McCready. Ask for Ian McCr
eady. Tell him everything that happened up until you met me. Tell him about the man who’s been following you. Give him this.” He pushed the napkin into her hand.

  She regarded it with disappointment at first, then wonder. It was a sketch. Of the man who’d broken into her room. Dicky had drawn it in a few seconds with a cheap ballpoint on a rough napkin. It was a perfect likeness. Raising her eyes to his, her eyebrows moved together. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  His eyes flickered a wince of regret. “I can’t, love. I’ve a bit of an aversion…to police stations. But you’ll be all right. They’ll take care of you.”

  Julie hesitated. “The man who broke into my room, you knew he was following me?” she asked awkwardly.

  “Yes.” Dicky frowned at her. “I told you that earlier.”

  “Is that why you came to my room?”

  Dicky opened his mouth to answer her, caught her expression, and caught back the words. “That’s one of the reasons,” he said kindly as she searched his eyes for more. Dicky sighed. To give her anything more would be stupid. She needed to understand that. “The other reason was a dry bed.”

  Ah, fuck. He couldn’t help himself.

  “And a wet fuck.” Arching one auburn eyebrow, he gave her an evil smile.

  She took it well, smiling back at him, not intimidated in the least, as far as he could tell. She took it too well.

  Well, if that didn’t discourage her, maybe this would. “Give us half your money,” he demanded.

  She gave her head a small, uncomprehending shake.

  “They’ll take care of you,” he told her, flicking his head at the police station. “You won’t need it.”

  As he waited with his hand out, she dug in her backpack.

  “You’ll be all right,” he muttered. Out on the street, the traffic rushed back and forth. There were a few seconds of silence while he folded the pound notes she’d given him, followed by his rush of words. “If anything goes wrong, get a taxi to The Swan. I’ll find you.”

  Ducking his head toward her, he hesitated an instant before he touched her cheek with his lips. Hungrily, he watched her eyes as he drew his face from hers. “I’ll watch you across the road,” he told her.

  As he’d promised, he watched her cross the road and climb the steps, watched the door close on her blue anorak and dark backpack. He stared at the door a few moments before he followed her across the street, sauntered past a few buildings and turned into an alley. Leaning against the wall, he lit a cigarette and took a drag, exhaling a plume of pale smoke into the city’s gray atmosphere. Surreptitiously, he checked every car leaving the alley, knowing it was the access alley to the police station.

  Though he couldn’t have explained the reason for his lingering interest, he did want to know the girl had been escorted to safety before he put her from his mind for good. And when he’d finished the first cigarette, he lit another one almost immediately.

  Several cigarettes later he saw her light blue anorak on the front steps again. With a vicious curse on his lips, he dropped his butt and ground it under his heel, staring angrily at the girl in front of the police station. She should have come down the alley in a panda car with an officer.

  He cursed again when he realized what was happening. A female police officer guided her down the steps toward a taxi and installed her inside the vehicle then closed the car door on her.

  Dicky came out of the alley and strode toward the corner, knowing the taxi would have to brake before making the turn. Casually, he stepped from the curb as the car approached, forcing the driver to stop. Glancing at the driver, he grinned as he slid alongside the taxi, yanked the door open, and threw himself inside. “Keep going, Robbie,” he told the driver.

  With his head ducked below the level of the windows, he settled onto the taxi’s floor. For several seconds he watched her. “What happened?”

  “I thought we said goodbye,” she challenged him with a tiny smile.

  He could tell she was pleased to see him, but he was too tense to respond. Still, he put a hand on her knee, just because he wanted to touch her. “What happened?” he asked again.

  She shrugged as she stared at his thumb, tracing an oval on her knee. “I told them everything. They had me go through their database of…mug shots…I guess you would call them.”

  “Did you tell McCready about the man who followed you?”

  “Inspector McCready was in London. He’s expected back tomorrow.”

  “Did you tell them about the man who’s following you?”

  “I’m not sure they believed me.”

  His hand tightened on her knee. “Fucking idiots!” Dicky exploded. “They should have escorted you, sent someone with you—someone to protect you. Where are you going?”

  “They got me a room,” she explained swiftly. “They said they’d send a car around in the morning to collect me.”

  “Anyone following us, Robbie?”

  “Christ!” the cabbie answered. “How would I know, Dicky?”

  “Start a circle, a big one, and see if anyone’s still with you when you come out of it.”

  “You paying for this, Dicky?”

  “Fuck you, Robbie. Charge it to the station.” His eyes burned on the girl. “Did you find anything in the database?”

  She shook her head.

  “Neither of them?”

  “No. What do you think that means, Dicky?”

  Dicky was thoughtful. “Fucking I don’t know.” He scraped a hand through his hair. “Did they give you any money?”

  She shook her head. “They have an agreement with the hotel.”

  “What hotel?”

  She didn’t answer immediately.

  “What hotel, Robbie?”

  “The George,” Robbie called out.

  “Robbie. Come around the side of Marks and Sparks and let me out behind the hotel. By the time you get around the front, I’ll be watching.

  “Go in the front door,” he told her. “I’ll follow you in. After you get your room, I’ll hang about in the lobby and watch for a while. Go up to your room and lock your door. Don’t let anyone in.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll come up to your room at four o’clock. I’ll knock four times. Make sure the room is en suite. You don’t want to be going down the hall to the bathroom.”

  She nodded at his unlaced boots.

  “Get a double bed.”

  Julie looked up quickly, but his eyes had already left hers.

  * * * * *

  Dicky knocked on Julie’s hotel room door at four o’clock.

  Inside the very basic room, she closed the door behind him and turned to face him.

  He fished a handful of color out of his pocket and threw it on the navy blue bedspread. Underwear, she realized.

  “I was in Marks and Sparks,” he explained briefly.

  “Thank you,” she told him as she sat on the bed’s edge and sorted through the bits of silk. Dangling a bit of hot pink from one finger, she gave him a slanting smile. “I’ve never worn a thong.”

  He reached for his cigarettes. “Try it on. I want to see it on you.”

  The clipped words were a command on his hard lips, spoken as though he expected them to be followed without hesitation. The demand was a jolt to her senses. An empty spot beneath her belly came to life with swooning interest and dark hunger. She wanted him. Wanted to stand close to him. Wanted his hands pulling her against his hard, lean length. Wanted his rough fingers snagging on the smooth silk of her naked skin, skimming her body. She wanted him touching her everywhere she felt unsettled and needy. She wanted him to settle her need once and for all.

  She smiled up at him but his eyes were serious. Although he appeared tired and frayed and raw, the fire within his gaze looked as though it would melt steel.

  Standing, she moved to slip past him on her way to the bathroom. The room wasn’t large and, awkwardly, her body brushed the edge of his coat. And that was all it took. That was all the provocation Dicky needed. His cigaret
te packet hit the floor as two hard hands grasped her hips, turned her and pushed her into the wall.

  Dicky’s mouth was all over hers, his hands rough, demanding, as he dragged them up her body to crush her small breasts beneath her T-shirt. Then his hands were in her hair, holding her head as his hard mouth smeared over her lips. “Oh, Jesus,” he kept saying. “Oh, Jesus.” Dragging in a long breath that appeared to sear his lungs, he grated his tough body against her slender frame. As he pushed into her, one of the buttons on his coat dug into her skin.

  A small sob escaped Julie’s lips as Dicky’s knee pushed between her legs, his rough coat and rough jeans scraping at her as he flexed his knees and pulled his groin upward, rubbing the long line of his denim-clad cock into her rise. His erection, a thick ridge beneath the coarse fabric of his heavy jeans, rasped at her harshly. And, for a moment, it occurred to Julie that he might actually take her, with most of her clothes on, up against the wall. The idea only worked to increase her breathless anticipation.

  Dicky’s breath was moist against her ear. “Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop, girl. Now, while you’ve still the chance. Because in two more minutes you won’t have any choice. Tell me to stop if you don’t want to get fucked.”

  Julie’s head went back to hit the wall as she moaned, “I love you, Dicky.”

  Dicky pushed himself away from her. Putting a few inches between them, his face twisted in frustration. “You…don’t even know me.”

  “You saved my life.”

  “When that man broke in on us? I was only saving myself.”

  Julie met the scythe of his gaze for a moment before she realized she’d made a mistake. Her eyes moved to the floor then back up to face him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw myself at you,” she mumbled. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

  His eyes cut into hers. “You don’t have one now.”

  Her chin came up. “You said I was your girlfriend. In The Swan.”

  “What?”

  “You said I was your girlfriend after I’d ordered supper…at the pub.”

  Slowly, he relented. A miserly smile edged the mean line of his mouth. “I did, didn’t I?”