Page 3 of Rough Return

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Grier firmed up his resolve—or rather, resignation—to his fate. Well, not quite. Knowing what Max would do to him, actually would order done, made resignation an optimistic idea. At least when it was over, he’d be free. Not free as much as dead. A kind of free, maybe.

And without getting laid one last time. Maybe he should have taken Fiona to bed in Belize when she’d first demanded it, because unless she could stop hating him long enough to join the mile-high club with him, his luck twisted from good to bad. And the chance of her letting him stop off to pick up a woman for a quickie ranged from slim to never-gonna-happen. So, death was coming. More accurately, he was jetting toward it at about six-hundred miles per hour.

He shook off the thought. No point in dwelling. Instead, he watched Fiona. Stared at her. Two years had knocked the innocence off. Turned her into a woman. She kept her long red hair down now, and soft curls framed her face, making her stormy eyes all the angrier. Maybe from dealing with her father dying or maybe she’d finally discovered the kind of bastard her father really was. No matter the reason, the differences didn’t end with her hair. She carried herself with confidence now. Not that she wasn’t a fireball of arrogance before, but this was different. More controlled. More real. And what could he say about the courage she’d used to come to Belize without backup and with no guarantee Kye wouldn’t shoot first and dispose of the body later? He hadn’t wanted to let Kye and Eliana see how he felt about her when they’d first met Fiona, but she would have been the perfect woman for him had she not been so intent on killing him.

And her face, the features once soft and innocent, had hardened, grown wary. Still beautiful. And he would never tell her. Would take to his grave how hot she looked. How much she affected him, always had. Even when it was wrong. And when she’d lifted her chin, daring Kye to shoot her, his body reacted in ways he couldn’t afford to think about. Not if he wanted to maintain any pride.

He’d never quite forgotten that day at the mall, the way she’d looked and tasted… how her body fit with his. Never would he tell her the memory that those few minutes in the dressing room had been the jump start to some long, lonely nights full of dreams of her.

She hadn’t changed perfumes either—still smelled of flowers and something sweet he’d never quite been able to identify. But there were flowers in Belize—exotic with white and orange blossoms—that smelled like her, made his thoughts head straight for the little box he’d put her in when he left. Made him remember holding her against him.

He shifted, his dick straining against his jeans, and the move brought him closer to her which was counterproductive to his objective.

When he bumped her shoulder, she turned a glare on him. “What are you doing?”

He cleared his throat. “Um, just… looking out the window.” Lame.

“Thinking about jumping?” Ah. So her smug smile had the same air of self-satisfaction he remembered. “Smashing your face against the pavement at a thousand miles an hour is probably kinder than what Max has planned for you.”

“Probably true.” But escape by parachute could work. Escape back to Belize. Of course, it would mean leaving Fiona behind, but that was okay. He’d done it before.

Fiona breathed deep. Her dad was going to be five kinds of pissed off with an extra dose of homicidal rage that she’d left Kye and his woman on the island. Grier had come along quietly, either incredibly brave or, more likely, unbelievably stupid. Especially since he didn’t know that Max handed down the order to have Grier ended. He would have guessed, of course, but not known for sure. Her father’s unpredictability made sure of it. But he wouldn’t know Fiona had swooped in and saved him. He would be indebted. She would own him. Until she got what she wanted, what Max wanted her to have, and she tired of him, at least.

She glanced over as the hired car sped toward her childhood home. If Grier was nervous, he kept it hidden behind his closed eyes and half-smile. She gave him a semi-gentle shove. “How can you sleep?” She really wanted to know.

“I’m not sleeping. I’m resting.” His eyes came open, only half-way, the sleepy eyes that turned her stomach to mush and had her imagining how he’d look after a couple of solid rounds in her bedroom.

“Okay. How can you rest?”

“What should I be doing? Wringing my hands? Clutching my pearls?” He shrugged and it made her want to rethink her most recent decisions. “I’ve always known Max knew where we were. And I’ve always known he would come.” He grinned, and she ignored the warmth that started in her belly and spread lower. “I’ve packed some living into these last few years.”

“Two years of getting laid by pretty island girls going to make the dying easier?” God, he was stupid.

He shrugged. “I would’ve never thought he’d send you.”

“I volunteered.” True. Max had wanted to send Bruce and Frank, but Fiona convinced him that if the guys went, Kye and Grier would never make it to the plane.

“Miss me, did you?”

Oh sure. With nothing to lose, she’d assured him he only had hours left to live and he decided to be the flirt she’d wanted him to be two years ago. She looked out the window.

“I think about that day at the mall sometimes.” His voice, soft, deep, went straight through her. “Max would have killed me.”

“He’s going to kill you now.”

Grier nodded. “I know. And I felt so chivalrous back then, but hindsight and all…I should’ve just slept with you.” The leather groaned as he twisted his body. “We’ve got time. Still up for it?”

“That’s your best line, dead man walking?” She clucked her tongue. “It’s a wonder you’re not dying a virgin. I was young then - I’m not so stupid now.” But the image in her head probably shot steam out her ears.

Was that regret in his eyes? God, she hoped so.

He shook his head. “Wow. You can really hold a grudge, huh?” And somehow, he’d managed to lace his fingers through hers, and stroked the inside of her wrist with the index finger of his free hand. “What if I said I was sorry?”

“Max will probably appreciate it. He’ll still kill you, but he likes a good apology.” And if anyone would know, it was his daughter.

“I don’t care about apologizing to Max.” He looked down. “I meant, I wanted to say I was sorry to you. I never stopped thinking about you.”