Street Game (GhostWalkers #8)(27)
Author: Christine Feehan

“Don’t you ever wear a shirt?” Jaimie demanded.

He smirked at her. “Bothers you, does it? Kind of takes your breath away?”

Jaimie rolled her eyes. “You probably spent the last fifteen minutes staring at yourself in the mirror.” For a moment he actually had taken her breath away and she was certain Kane knew it. He’d been standing close enough to hear her swift indrawn breath and now he was grinning ear to ear. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t say a word.”

Kane held up his hands in surrender, ruined it by winking, walked around her, slapped Mack on the back, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Mack tossed his towel aside and took a step toward Jaimie. Her head came up, eyes suddenly wary. Mack smiled when she stepped backward. The bed caught the back of her knees and she sat down rather abruptly. The move brought her eye level with the undone top button of Mack’s jeans. She blushed for no reason at all, her eyes traveling up his narrow hips, the muscle-cut stomach, to his heavily developed chest.

“This is silly, Mack. Get some clothes on.” Her mouth had gone so dry it was difficult to speak normally.

“I have clothes on.” He stepped close enough for her to feel his body heat. He pulled the makeshift turban from her head and gently began to rub her hair with the towel.

He was so close Jaimie was forced to close her eyes. It didn’t seem to matter, he filled her vision anyway. He smelled of spicy aftershave mingled with his clean, masculine scent. Beneath her long lashes she could glimpse every defined muscle of his chest and arms, the way the hair on his chest grew down in a fine V to disappear into his jeans. His hands were evoking all kinds of sensations Jaimie didn’t care to remember.

She stood it as long as she could before clenching her teeth and reaching up to capture his wrists. “I’m perfectly capable of drying my own hair.”

His wrists were so thick, Jaimie couldn’t get a good grip on him and he merely twisted his arm so that her hands fell free. “I know you can. I’ve always liked doing it.

You have beautiful hair.”

His words triggered warm memories of Mack down on one knee, wiping tears from Jaimie’s face, brushing back strands of muddy hair, assuring her they could make her hair beautiful again with a quick shampoo. She found herself smiling.

“You’ve always said that, even when I was a little girl.”

“It’s true, I love your hair.” Mack tossed the towel aside and began using his fingers, tunneling through damp strands to pick it dry.

It seemed far worse with his fingers than with the towel, much more intimate.

Jaimie could barely breathe, every nerve ending alive, a hot ember coiling, growling in the pit of her stomach, spreading discontent, spreading need. His jeanclad knee brushed against her shoulder. Something deep and feminine, hot and demanding, unleashed inside of her. Without conscious thought, her hand curled around his calf muscle. A connection.

The moment she touched him, she knew it was a mistake. His body was hard and hot and so inviting, and memories flooded in. She had loved him so much, had been so proud that he’d been hers. And he’d thrown her away for his adrenaline rush.

Mack’s body went taut, every muscle contracting. The heat licking up his leg was like flames, each running hotter and faster than the last until he was consumed with it. For one moment his fists bunched in her hair, the physical need so great he shook with the craving, but then she let go. He heard her breath hitch.

Abruptly he released her, turned away quickly to move stiffly to the bar. Kane was a blessing and a curse. Mack wanted to be alone with Jaimie, needed to be alone with her, but he didn’t dare. His hand was a little bit unsteady when he poured his coffee.

Jaimie sat very still, her heart pounding somewhere between alarm, anticipation, and frustration. There was no mistaking Mack’s body’s sudden urgent demand and the ensuing struggle to control his desire. For a moment, she had been afraid he was going to toss her on the bed and take her right there. For a moment she had wanted him to. She touched her tongue to her lips and forced herself to take charge.

“Kane and I were discussing going out to eat.” Jaimie tested her voice cautiously.

Her tone might have been a tiny bit more husky than normal, but she could live with it.

“What do you think?”

Mack smiled, pure male and taunting. “I think you’re a little coward, honey, that’s what I think.”

The way he said “honey” was caressing, almost tender. It was disarming and totally unfair. Jaimie stayed on the bed with space separating them, feeling it was far safer. He still had a predatory gleam in his eye. “We’re discussing breakfast: Go out or stay in. Vote.”

“I’d rather vote on other things.”

“As usual, you’re not making a bit of sense. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

He swung back toward her, a quick movement of power and grace, his black eyes devouring her face. Jaimie’s heart lurched wildly. He came across the floor like a stalking jungle cat. She couldn’t move, frozen to the spot, reaching behind her for the windowsill for support. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Mack stopped inches from her, his hand grasping her chin firmly. “I know exactly why you put up with me,” he drawled softly, his eyes holding hers captive, his thumb stroking across her full bottom lip.

Jaimie jerked her head away, small teeth snapping at his thumb. “I’m glad one of us does.” She crossed her arms protectively across her chest, trying to ignore the way her treacherous body remembered his. Her heart remembered the pain of loving him.

“Fortunately, Kane is out of the shower and has saved your life.” She pushed around him, forcing herself not to run. It took a great deal of control to walk away from him when anger and hurt and love warred with one another.

CHAPTER 6

Kane waved a forkful of biscuits and gravy in Jaimie’s direction to emphasize his point. “That little blueberry muffin is not exactly nutritious, Little Miss Nag. And it wouldn’t fill up my big toe.”

“Chicken-fried steak, biscuits, and all that gravy ought to shoot your cholesterol level right up to the moon.” Jaimie was all righteousness. Her vivid blue gaze pinned Mack, who was trying unsuccessfully to become part of the woodwork. “And no one eats four eggs. That’s your week’s worth in one sitting. We all studied nutrition, remember?”

“You studied it and forced us to eat the most god-awful concoctions known to man,” Mack protested.