Loving the Lone Wolf
Dear Reader,
June brings you six high-octane reads from Silhouette Intimate Moments, just in time for summer. First up, Ingrid Weaver enthralls readers with Loving the Lone Wolf (#1369), which is part of her revenge-ridden PAYBACK miniseries, Here, a street thug turned multimillionaire on a mission falls for the enemy’s girlfriend and learns that looks can be deceiving! Crank up your air-conditioning as Debra Cowan’s miniseries THE HOT ZONE will definitely raise temperatures with its firefighter characters. The second book, Melting Point (#1370), has a detective heroine and firefighting hero discovering more than one way to put out a fire as they track a serial killer.
Caridad Piñeiro lures us back to her haunting miniseries, THE CALLING. In Danger Calls (#1371), a beautiful doctor loses herself in her work, until a heady passion creates delicious chaos while throwing her onto a dangerous path. You’ll want to curl up with Linda Winstead Jones’s latest book, One Major Distraction (#1372), from her miniseries LAST CHANCE HEROES, in which a marine poses as a teacher to find a killer and falls for none other than the fetching school cook…who hides one whopper of a secret.
When a SWAT hero butts heads with a plucky reporter, a passionate interlude is sure to follow in Diana Duncan’s Truth or Consequences (#1373), the next book in her fast-paced miniseries FOREVER IN A DAY. In Deadly Reunion (#1374), by Lauren Nichols, our heroine thinks her life is comfortable. But of course, mayhem ensues as her ex-husband—a man she’s never stopped loving—returns to solve a murder and clear his name…and she’s going to help him.
This month is all about finding love against the odds and those adventures lurking around the corner. So as you lounge in your favorite chair, lose yourself in one of these gems from Silhouette Intimate Moments!
Sincerely,
Patience Smith
Associate Senior Editor
Loving the Lone Wolf
Ingrid Weaver
ISBN: 9781408946480
Loving the Lone Wolf
© Ingrid Caris 2005
First Published in Great Britain in 2005
Harlequin (UK) Limited
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, including without limitation xerography, photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This ebook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the prior consent of the publisher, in any form or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this work have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.á.r.l.
® and TM are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
COMING NEXT MONTH
INGRID WEAVER
admits to being a sucker for old movies and books that can make her cry. “I write because life is an adventure,” Ingrid says. “And the greatest adventure of all is falling in love.” Since the publication of her first book in 1994, she has won the Romance Writers of America RITA® Award for Romantic Suspense, as well as the Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for Series Romantic Suspense. Ingrid lives with her husband and son and an assortment of shamefully spoiled pets in a pocket of country paradise an afternoon’s drive from Toronto. She invites you to visit her Web site at www.ingridweaver.com.
Prologue
“Mommy, look at this!”
The scene unfolded with the slow-motion horror of a nightmare. At first, Kelly couldn’t accept what she was seeing. This was Jamie’s playroom, part of their sanctuary, an island of sanity where her son could be just a kid and she could be simply a mom. Toy cars littered the carpet, crayons and paper covered the child-size desk and the cushions from the biggest couch had been propped into a pile on the floor to make a garage.
But Jamie wasn’t holding a crayon or a car or the favorite threadbare stuffed rabbit that he had crawled into his couch-cushion garage to find.
He was holding a gun.
No. Oh, God, no!
The nightmare image continued to expand, melding the ordinary with the obscene. Under the eerily unblinking gaze of the toys that lined the shelves, sunlight glinted from the silver pistol, the same sunlight that sifted through Jamie’s strawberry-blond hair and gilded the freckles on his cherub cheeks with gold.
Kelly fought to stay calm, despite the scream that swelled in her throat. She couldn’t risk startling him. She unfolded her legs from where she had been sitting cross-legged on the floor. Holding out her hand, she knee-walked across the carpet. She was only two yards away. It seemed like two miles. “Jamie, please put that down.”
The gun was a 9mm clip-loading semiautomatic, the kind the guards who patrolled the estate carried. It was too large for a three-year-old’s tiny hands, so Jamie gripped the pistol by its barrel the same way he would normally grip the handle of the plastic hammer that had come with his toy tool bench. Oblivious to the danger, he sat back on his heels and tilted his head to investigate his new find. “Pow, pow!”
“Now, baby.” Kelly halted in front of him, reached for the weapon and eased it from his hands. “Give it to Mommy.”
“I want to play with it!”
The moment the gun was securely in Kelly’s grip, her breath rushed out. Her pulse was pounding so hard, her chest ached. The urge to scream was getting stronger. It was almost as powerful as the urge to run.
Yes, run. Take her baby and keep going until her feet bled and her legs collapsed and there was no more air in her lungs. End the madness, leave the nightmare behind and find somewhere free and safe and normal where love wasn’t a tool, armed men didn’t patrol the halls and guns didn’t end up between couch cushions like stray pocket change.
Her fingers trembled as she unloaded the gun and put it on the floor behind her. How it had gotten here, who had left it, were questions she would deal with later. She leaned over to pull her son into a hard embrace. Pressing her nose to his hair, she drew in his scent, that sweet mixture of baby shampoo and warm child, the familiar anchor for her senses when the world spun out of control.…
Before she realized what she was doing, she was on her feet with her son clasped in her arms and was halfway across the room.
Kelly’s scream emerged as a moan. Clenching her teeth, she stopped short of the door and turned in a circle. She couldn’t run. Not yet. If she did, Stephan would track them down as he had before.
She had to be patient and stick to her plan. She had to use her head instead of her heart. She couldn’t trust her heart. That’s what had gotten her into this in the first place.
But, oh, God! If she had been three yards away instead of two, if Jamie had played with that gun instead of showing it to her, if he had looked down the barrel, if he had touched the trigger…
Kelly’s shoulders shook with a sob. She sank to her knees, clutching Jamie to her chest. He squirmed, restless with his mother’s need to cling, but she only hugged him tighter.
“I’ll get us out of this,” she whispered. “I promise.”
The vow was one she had made countless times.
Only this time, she knew exactly how she would make it happen.
Chapter 1
Nathan Beliveau wasn’t looking for a woman. Even if he had been, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been this one.
From the improbable shade of her strawberry-blond hair to the lethal spikes of her stiletto heels, Kelly Jennings spelled trouble. She had the kind of presence that commanded the stage, drawing every gaze in the place as she posed in the spotlight. Her dress shimmered in a sheath of gold, caressing her body in a way that was designed to make any man there think about reaching out for those curves and doing the same.
But word on the street had it that this woman belonged to Stephan Volski. She was one of his trophies, a symbol of the Russian’s power and his wealth, so only a suicidal fool would consider getting any part of his body even close to hers.
Ice cubes tinkled as Nathan wrapped his fingers around his glass and leaned back in his chair. The lights dimmed until pinpoints of white shone from the ceiling like a network of stars. That’s what Volski had named the nightclub, the Starlight.
It was a high-class place, one of the most popular in Chicago, with plush blue velvet covering the chairs and white linen on the small tables. A staff of polite servers glided unobtrusively around the room, although Nathan had spotted several who had the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster under their jackets. More muscle was positioned near the exits, but they kept their presence low-key. The majority of the patrons who frequented the club weren’t aware this place was a front for the owner’s real business. They came here for the ambiance and for the music.
Nathan had come here to settle a debt.
There was a scattering of applause as Kelly stepped up to the microphone. She acknowledged it with a graceful dip of her chin. Nathan couldn’t see the color of her eyes from where he sat—he’d chosen a table far from the stage so he could put his back against the wall while keeping track of the people who entered the room—but he was still close enough to see that the rest of her features projected the same kind of sensuality as her body.
Her face was a classic oval, framed by an artful tumble of curls. Her high cheekbones and her generous mouth were emphasized by dramatic makeup, but she wore no jewelry around her neck. The tempting expanse of cleavage her dress revealed didn’t need adornment.
When it came to choosing his trophies, Volski had spectacular taste. Kelly appeared to be made for pleasure, a woman who was well aware of her sex appeal and knew how to use it.
And fool or not, Nathan wasn’t immune to her effect. He tried to ignore the stirring of interest he felt. It usually took more than a good body and a pretty face for him to notice a woman—he was more interested in what lay inside than in the packaging. Yet he couldn’t deny that the mere sight of Kelly was getting to him.
It was an understandable response, a healthy male reaction to the display of a ripe female.
Nathan reminded himself once again that this was the wrong female.
He sipped his drink and surveyed the crowd, turning his thoughts back to business. Volski’s emissary was supposed to have been here five minutes ago. It had taken Nathan over a month to set up this meeting, and Tony’s patience was running out. The plan was still a good one, though. All he needed was the chance to put it into motion.
A glimmer of movement drew his gaze back to the stage. Kelly’s dress shifted as she curled her fingers around the microphone, revealing another half inch of cleavage. Contrary to what Nathan expected, her full lips didn’t curve with the smile of a seductress. Instead, they thinned with determination. She remained motionless, as if she were drawing into herself. It went on so long, the audience began to grow restive. Finally, she closed her eyes, lifted her face and began to sing.
If Nathan hadn’t already been leaning his chair against the wall, he would have been knocked on his butt by her first note.
Longing. Pain.
Rage.
The emotions that trembled through the air were so genuine, so raw, that Nathan felt as if he’d been struck. This wasn’t an act. What Kelly was doing on that stage was too private, making it seem as if he were intruding merely by listening.
He wasn’t alone. The entire audience went silent, as if they were as stunned by the intimacy of what they were hearing as Nathan was. The melody was familiar, an old torch song from the 1930s, yet Kelly made it sound as if it had been written just for her.
There were musicians backing her up, a jazz trio consisting of a pianist, a bass player and a drummer. Nathan could see their silhouettes on the stage beyond the range of the spotlight, yet they kept their contribution to the music as unobtrusive as their appearance. Kelly’s voice didn’t need adornment any more than her features did.
Nathan swallowed the rest of his drink, along with a pang of regret. There had to be more to Kelly than just the packaging. How did a woman who sang like this, whose performance hinted at such depth to her emotions, end up involved with scum like Stephan Volski?
Maybe the rumors were wrong.
Damn, he hoped so.
Because if Kelly Jennings was anywhere near her boyfriend when this deal went down, she would be trading her stage for a prison cell.
This would be the last time, the very last time, that Kelly would negotiate a deal for Stephan. All she had to do was set this business into motion and she and Jamie would be as good as gone. The smuggler she had been sent to meet was about to become their ticket to freedom.
Yet even knowing that, Kelly still felt her stomach rebel as she stepped off the stage. She paused to smooth her dress until the queasiness passed, then put on her best performer’s smile and kept her gaze on the back wall as she moved between the tables. She didn’t waste time by going backstage to change. That would be an indulgence she couldn’t afford. She’d already indulged herself enough for one night.
What had come over her? How could she have exposed her feelings that way? The past three years had taught her better than that. It was enough that she exposed half her bosom without laying bare her heart.
She should have restrained herself as she always did. Put on a show, gone through the motions, given the audience what they expected so everyone went home happy. Yet her control had been stretched to the limit today. The frustrated rage she’d kept inside since she had seen that gun in Jamie’s hands had needed to be released. Music was the only safe outlet she had. Without it, she likely would have gone insane by now.
But the respite was over. Rand was already here. One of Stephan’s watchdogs had pointed him out to her as soon as the set had ended.
He sat alone at a table in the shadows, his chair casually tipped back against the wall. He’d extinguished the candle that had burned in the glass bowl on the table, so she couldn’t yet see his face, but she could feel his gaze on her as she worked her way closer.
Fine. She knew how to handle that. If Rand was like most of Stephan’s associates, he’d be too busy ogling her to realize he was about to be played. She decided to put on a show for him, too, and give him what he expected. She added a hint of extra sway to her hips.
This had to work. She couldn’t let herself think of what she might be driven to do if it didn’t.
She paused when she reached his table, inhaled from the diaphragm to calm her nerves and held out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Rand,” she said, deliberately pitching her voice low so that he would have to draw closer in order to hear. “I’m Kelly Jennings. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
He hesitated briefly before he rose to his feet. He was a tall man. Despite the four-inch heels Kelly wore, her eyes were only on a level with his chin. A loosely knotted tie hung from the open collar of his white shirt, likely a token concession to the Starlight’s dress code, but the jacket that stretched across his wide shoulders was biker black leather. It creaked as he extended his arm to take her hand. “I wasn’t expecting Volski’s man to be a woman,” he said.
The deep voice went along with his size. It was as masculine as the scent of leather and the hint of spicy aftershave that rose with him. She cranked up the wattage of her smile. “I hope you’re not disappoint—”
She never finished the inane comment. The first touch of his palm against her own stole her breath. Maybe it was due to anxiety, or maybe it was a result of fatigue, but when he closed his fingers around hers, she felt a thrill chase across her nerves.
His hand was large, his fingers long and tanned. The strength in his grip was wrapped in a gentleness that was at odds with his size and his choice of wardrobe. Kelly lifted her gaze from his hand to his face.
Good Lord, she thought. Whatever crimes this man did for a living, whatever he was on the inside, there was no denying that the outside was gorgeous. He had a square jaw and broad cheekbones, with a bold hawklike nose that evoked the image of a native warrior. His jet-black hair was cut short and combed straight back from his forehead, but he would have looked just as good with it long and braided. She could picture him on horseback, his shoulders clad in buckskin and his chiseled face bathed by moonlight…
“Surprised would be more accurate,” he murmured.
Kelly blinked, wrenching her mind back to business. What was wrong with her tonight? Rand’s appearance meant nothing to her. She wasn’t looking for a man. She was looking for a patsy, a sucker. A scapegoat. She gestured to the chair beside his. “Well, I hope you mean that in a good way. Do you mind if I join you?”
He held her chair for her. It wasn’t a showy courtesy, it seemed to come naturally to him. He resumed his seat, picked up a book of matches from the table and lit the candle.
His eyes were the color of amber, reflecting the flame with flecks of gold. And despite her revealing neckline, he kept his gaze on her face. “I have what you need,” he said quietly.
How right he was, she thought. “That sounds promising. Would you care to elaborate?”
“I’m in the transportation business. Volski’s looking for a new method to move his product. The math seems simple enough.”
“We checked out your background, Mr. Rand. We heard you ran a successful operation in Detroit ten years ago, but your experience was limited to stealing cars.”
“I prefer to regard it as redistributing them.”
“That’s an interesting way to put it.”
“It’s accurate. I either broke them down for parts or shipped them overseas.”
“Yes, so I heard. You had a good reputation.” She maintained her smile as she continued to scrutinize him. “But you dropped out of sight. Why is it that no one seems to have heard of you since then?”
“Because I’ve moved up from stealing cars, and I’m very good at what I do.”
“And that is?”
“I told you. Transportation.”
She crossed her arms on the table and angled her shoulders toward him. Cool air wafted across her breasts as her neckline gaped. She didn’t pull back—she wanted to put him off balance and she would take any advantage she could get. “You must understand why we would be concerned. Your timely arrival seems too convenient. We need to be sure you are what you claim to be.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t aware you would require references. I left my résumé in my other suit.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. Still keeping his gaze on hers, he moved the candleholder aside. “You might want to be careful where you lean. That dress looks combustible.”
“Do you like it?”
“If I say yes, is it going to help our negotiations or hurt them?”
This was going to be tougher than she thought. She let her smile fade. “Perhaps you could explain why we should trust you, Mr. Rand.”
“That goes both ways, Miss Jennings.”
“Oh, please. There’s no need to be so formal. Call me Kelly.”
“Let’s quit playing games, Kelly. Volski must already trust me or he wouldn’t have arranged this meeting.”
“He’s interested, yes, but—”
“But he sent you to distract me so he can negotiate a better deal.”
Normally, that would be true. Stephan had recognized her potential from the start and had been quick to exploit it, but this time it was her own agenda, not his, that had her pulling out all the stops. “Nathan,” she began. She splayed her hand on the bare skin at the base of her throat in a gesture that was a surefire attention getter. “I may call you Nathan, may I not?”
He touched his index finger to her knuckle, then traced his way down the back of her hand until he rested his fingertip on the upper curve of her breast. Incredibly, his gaze still didn’t waver from hers. “You can call me whatever you like, Kelly, as long as it doesn’t include fool. I’m here for business, and regardless of what you’re trying to accomplish with this lovely display—” he pressed lightly, stroking her breast along the edge of her little finger “—I believe you’re here for business, too.”
She had to exercise every ounce of her control to stay in character and keep from jerking back. Not because someone might see them and report this to Stephan—with her back to the room and the table positioned in the shadows, no one else would be aware of Nathan’s caress. And not because the contact repulsed her. It was quite the opposite. His touch on her breast wasn’t invasive, it was tender, almost…regretful. This was as unexpected as the thrill she’d felt from his handshake and so help her, despite what she knew about him, she found it pleasant.
That was why it had to end. This wasn’t what she had planned. Just who was distracting whom? She eased her shoulders back, reducing the contact until all she could feel was the warmth from his fingertip.
“I have what you need,” he repeated. “I have a network in place that can move the merchandise Volski has stockpiled in Vladivostok.” He withdrew his hand, ending the caress as casually as he had started it. He crossed his arms. “The only question here is if you can make it worth my while.”
Her skin tingled where he had touched her. Beneath it, her heart started to pound. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for. She fought to keep her eagerness from showing. “You seem like an intelligent man, Nathan. Intelligent and ambitious. I like that.”
“And you sing as if there’s a hell of a lot more to you than you’re pretending, Kelly. I’m not sure whether I like that or not.”
This time she did jerk. His touch on her body was one thing, but that comment was just too personal. Pretending? God, he couldn’t possibly know the truth. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
“Was that what it was?”
“Why, of course. I’m a singer. That’s what I do.”
“No, what you do is work for Volski. From what I heard on that stage tonight, singing is what you are.”
Damn, his insight was right on target. It appeared that she had underestimated him. She had to wrap this up before he sliced any deeper. “Then on behalf of Stephan, I have a proposal to present.”
“I’m listening.”
“Since we haven’t worked together before, we must overcome trust issues on both sides. The best way to do that is to increase the stakes.”