Killian's Passion. Barbara McCauley
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and was wearing a snug white tank top and tight jeans that exposed curves he hadn’t seen before. She’d done something with her hair—pulled it back and let a few wet strands curl around her freshly washed, heart-shaped face.
How the hell had she gotten out of that rope?
“Oh, Ian, honey, there you are.” She smiled brightly at him, but it wasn’t a smile that reached her smoky-green eyes—it was smug satisfaction. “I was wondering what took you so long. I’m afraid we’ll have to do this some other time. I completely forgot I have an appointment in town. I’ll call you later and—oh, you have company.”
Nick’s jaw had gone slack as he stared at the woman. If Ian wasn’t so furious, he’d be laughing his butt off at the expression on his friend’s face.
Hell, it had to be the same as the expression on his own face.
“I’ll just get my bag and be on my way.” She bent down to pick up her backpack and had started for the door when she stopped suddenly and turned to stare hard at Nick. Nick stared right back.
“Nick Santos?” Eyes wide, she whispered the name with reverence.
Nick managed an uncertain nod and continued to gawk openly at the woman.
“I’ve been a fan for years.” She moved toward him, her smile genuine now as she offered her hand. “Cara Sinclair.”
Nick stared at Cara’s hand, blinked twice, then slowly closed his palm over her long, slender fingers. “Uh, a pleasure, Miss Sinclair.”
“Cara, please,” she said, her voice soft and breathy.
This isn’t happening, Ian thought dimly. Five minutes ago he’d left this long-legged she-cat spitting and snarling in his bathtub. Tied up and gagged. Now she stood here as calmly as if she’d dropped in for tea, cooing that she was a fan of Nick’s, for God’s sake.
“I was at the Bloomfield County Speedway when you won Nationals three years ago.” She pulled her hand away and shifted the backpack on her shoulder. “You were amazing.”
Her eyes were soft now, almost dreamy, Ian noted, and he clenched his jaw so tightly he thought it might snap. If she asked Santos for his autograph, Ian knew he’d have to hurt someone.
“Just lucky, but thanks, anyway.” Nick seemed to have his composure back now. He flashed Cara the smile that had graced numerous sports magazines and several advertising campaigns for everything from motorcycles to jeans to milk. Charm had always been Nick’s middle name, and he laid it on heavy. Ian was certain it was just to annoy him.
Damn if it wasn’t working.
“I’m off the circuit now,” Nick said smoothly. “I’ve got my own place customizing bikes here in Wolf River. Maybe you’d like to see it sometime.” Nick grinned at Ian, who scowled back. “Ian can bring you by.”
Cara looked at Ian, and a slow smile spread over her lips, lips still slightly swollen and rosy from the kiss he’d planted on her. Or maybe it was from the sock he’d shoved in her mouth. Either way, the look she shot him said he’d better watch his back.
“Thanks. I’ll get back to you on that. Oh, and congratulations on your upcoming wedding. Ian couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“Is that right?” Nick raised his brows and glanced at Ian. Ian knew what Nick thought, that he’d interrupted an afternoon interlude, not conversation about the Santos wedding. What else was he to think when a beautiful woman came bouncing out of the bathroom, her hair wet and her cheeks flushed?
And Ian decided he’d let Nick keep right on thinking just that.
Moving behind the Sinclair woman, Ian caught the scent of the storm that still lingered on her damp hair and smooth skin. When he placed his hands on her shoulders in what appeared to be an affectionate display, she stiffened, then covered his boot discreetly with her own and came down hard on his instep. Pain shot up his leg when she shifted her weight. She leaned intimately against him while she dug her heel in deeper. He forced a smile and plowed his fingers into the soft flesh of her shoulders.
“I’ll catch you in town, Santos,” Ian ground out, fighting to ignore the bone-crushing pressure of her boot on top of his foot. “I’d just like to say goodbye to Cara.”
“I’ve really got to run, darling. I don’t want to be late for my appointment.” She twisted in his arms to press a kiss to his cheek and threw her entire weight into increasing his torture. He sucked in a breath and clenched his teeth.
She held his gaze, waited for him to make the next move. He considered his options: create a scene in front of Nick or let her go. He didn’t like either option.
Neither he or the woman, for reasons of their own, wanted a confrontation in front of Nick. No, Ian thought as he slowly let go of her shoulders, he wanted to finish this privately, someplace where they would be completely alone.
There was a momentary, tense silence as she stepped away from him. The rain had stopped completely now and the only sound was the heavy drip-drip of water from the roof.
She turned away from him and smiled at Nick as she backed toward the door. “Nice to meet you.”
Nick nodded. “You, too. We’ll see you around.”
Her hand on the open door, Cara paused and cast a glance at Ian. “Maybe,” she said, arching one delicate brow.
Ian stared at the door when she closed it behind her.
No maybe about it, Blondie.
She wouldn’t go far, he was certain of that. She’d come here for something. Whatever it was she was after, she wasn’t finished yet.
And neither was he.
He turned to Nick, who was staring hard at him. “Don’t ask. Don’t even ask.”
Fortunately for Nick, he didn’t. He simply scratched at his neck and shrugged. “Does this mean that free offer of pool and beer is on or off?”
“On.” Ian unbuttoned his shirt and headed for the bedroom to change his clothes. He needed a game of pool to clear his head and a beer to wash the taste of apricots out of his mouth.
Cara kept a vigil on the thick trees separating her cabin from Ian’s. Evening shadows darkened the woods, and though Cara had never been afraid of the night, she couldn’t stop the prickle of anxiety working its way up her spine.
He hadn’t followed her when she’d left his cabin over an hour ago, but she hadn’t really expected that he would. At least, not yet. Through the bathroom door, she’d overheard Ian’s offer to meet Nick in town for a game of pool, and she assumed that he’d stayed with those plans. No doubt Ian would play it cool, to downplay what Nick had walked into this afternoon.
Or what he thought he’d walked into.
She smiled at that, decided that Ian would stay in town, casually play a few games of pool, drink some beer. He’d act like he had all the time in the world. But Cara knew he was thinking about her, wondering who the devil she was and what she’d been doing watching him.
He’d be coming soon. She was certain of that.
A shiver crept up her arms, a mixture of tension and anticipation. Her skin felt sticky and itchy from crawling around in the cattails, and her hair had dried into a mass of stiff curls. She needed a shower badly, but she’d phoned in an urgent message to Margaret and couldn’t risk missing a return call. She would want to know what had happened this afternoon, though Cara had already decided that certain minor details were unimportant and could be left out. One, that Ian had tied her up, and two, that he’d kissed her.
Touching her fingers to her lips, she remembered the press of his mouth against hers, the hot, though brief, brush of his tongue over her own. Killian Shawnessy was much more than she’d bargained for.
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