The Sniper. Kimberly Van Meter
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he said, his mouth twisting in a subtle grin that did something undesirable to her insides. “Who says we never had anything in common?”
She wiped at her eyes. “Not funny.”
“Too soon?”
“Way too soon.” She pulled away. “So I’m guessing a trip to my apartment is out of the question.”
“It’s the first place they’ll expect you to go. Sorry. You’ll have to make do with what we can find at the cabin.”
“Fine.” She glanced down at her dirty skirt. “I can always hand wash what I’m wearing.”
Nathan eyed her skirt with open distaste and she bristled just a little. “You don’t have to look at me if I’m so offensive to your sensibilities.” She winced privately at the memory of his mocking her when he’d broken her heart. He’d had plenty to say about her long, coltlike legs. For the first time ever, he’d made her feel as if having long legs wasn’t something to be desired. She pulled at her skirt, trying to cover herself better.
“You’re not offending me,” he admitted, but his gaze said otherwise as it seemed he couldn’t bear to let his stare drift to her bare legs.
“Good, because I don’t really care what you think anyway,” she snapped before she could help herself. Okay, take a deep breath. Like it or not, Nathan was all that stood between her and some crazy person’s agenda, which included her death. “I’m sorry,” she amended. “My nerves are a bit jangled and I’m not myself. I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t have some unresolved issues about the way we broke up but I know that’s not important right now. I’m trying desperately to hold on to the big picture, but let’s just say that I’m not as emotionally mature as I’d like to be under the circumstances.”
“No need to apologize,” he said gruffly. “I get it.”
A man of many words. She bit her tongue to keep from snapping again. Here she was trying to be the bigger person and he was uttering small quips and sound bites. Would it kill him to express a deeper thought? Particularly when they were facing mortal peril? What if this was their last possible chance to share their feelings?
What feelings? A nasty voice reminded her. Nathan Isaacs wasn’t human. She settled her thoughts firmly before she completely lost control of her mouth again. Neither of them were overjoyed at being in forced proximity but both enjoyed breathing so they’d just have to make the best of things. She could handle being around Nathan for a short time, right? She’d just have to wrap her brain around the fact that he was her protector, not her ex-lover who broke her spirit and heart in one fell swoop.
And she’d also have to ignore the memories of what it felt like to be beneath all that straining muscle, clutching at each other like love-drunk monkeys.
Yeah, piece of cake.
Chapter 6
Nathan didn’t trust a silent woman—particularly one who had a history of being chatty. They’d returned to the cabin and Jaci had started to search for alternate clothing but the subtle frown etched on her brow told him her thoughts were elsewhere. Should he try and talk to her? Did she need to vent or something? The thing about being an assassin was that no one had ever accused him of being warm and sensitive. He pulled triggers for a living; he didn’t do touchy-feely unless it was of the naked variety.
Yet he felt compelled to do something that might help Jaci get through this terrible predicament. “Do you want to talk?” he ventured, almost cringing.
“No.”
Thank God. No, wait. “Jaci, I know this is a stressful thing but we’re going to be all right.”
“Please don’t patronize me,” she said in exasperation as she dropped an ugly oversize sweater that looked like a reject from the ’70s. “I know we’re in serious trouble. I’m trying to deal with it the best way that I can and in the meantime, I’m trying to find clothing that doesn’t look like something used as a costume for a community-theater melodrama. Who lived here? There’s not a single article of clothing that isn’t terribly dated or four times too big.”
“I don’t know. I bought it a long time ago when I thought I’d need a safe house or a place to decompress. I’ve only been here a few times over the years, mostly between missions. The clothes I picked up at the local thrift store to make it look as if someone lives here. If someone were to peek through the windows, they’d see a lived-in place, which is a deterrent to anyone who might want to try and squat in a vacant house.”
“There are no other human beings on this mountain. The only squatters you need to worry about are the bears and I don’t think they’re going to care if there are clothes in the closet.” She sighed and surveyed the pile of rejects. “I’m sorry but there’s nothing here that even fits. If we don’t find a way to get some clothes, I’m going to end up running around in my bra and panties the whole time.”
His mind blanked at the idea and he nearly groaned out loud. Good God. He couldn’t let that happen. If he saw Jaci in nothing but her skivvies, he was likely to throw her down and bury himself inside that gorgeous body of hers—definitely a bad idea. He must have grimaced for Jaci sent him a hard scowl as she said, “Don’t worry. I’ll drape myself in a plastic tarp before I subject your poor eyeballs to my naked body. I do recall how disgusted you were with what I have to offer.”
Ah, hell. If only she knew the truth. “I don’t need distractions,” he said instead, which only made her angrier and he cursed himself for being a clumsy clod when it came to saying the right thing. She stiffened and lifted her chin, her eyes glittering, and he knew she was about to tear him a new one so he cut her off before she could begin. “Jaci, before you get started...I’m going to say this and then leave it be. If you start prancing around in nothing but your skin, I can’t promise that I will keep my hands to myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman beneath me and you’ll do just fine. You getting me?”
She rolled her eyes. “So you’re saying that you’re desperate enough to find me attractive? Gee, thanks.”
Hell, that’s not what he meant at all. He dreamed of holding Jaci in his arms again. He got hard just thinking of the times he’d been lucky enough to have had the privilege of peeling her clothes from her lush body. But he couldn’t keep her safe if he didn’t keep his head on a swivel and that trumped his baser needs. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been called worse.”
“If my life weren’t in danger and you weren’t the one person watching out for me, I’d push you in front of a bus.”
Nathan watched as she turned on her heel and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples as a tension headache threatened to burst his brain. How was he going to survive being cooped up with that woman for longer than a day or two? Too bad the Geneva Conventions didn’t have a clause about forcing former lovers into close proximity for extended periods of time.
Particularly if the female is a fiery, temperamental redhead with a body that makes a man’s teeth clench and his pants tight.
Surely that had to be inhumane.
* * *
Jerk. Jerk. Jerk.
That was Nathan Isaacs’s middle name. In fact, it was probably typed on his birth certificate. She wasn’t ugly or hard on the eyes. Plenty of men had assured her that she was pretty, not that she’d gone looking for compliments—well, maybe just a little. She could admit that her self-esteem had taken a beating after Nathan had dumped her.
And now he was messing with her again.
As if she’d even invite him into her bed again after how he’d treated her. Not a chance. The idea of allowing Nathan to touch even one inch of her skin