Tooth And Nailed Part 3

Chapter Three.

"Now, baby, just calm down," Simon began in a placating tone.

"No, Dad. Forget it. No way, no how. I am NOT spending two weeks in protective custody with that Irish playboy!"

He sighed. "Don't you think that's a little harsh?"

Rowan crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. "I'm not spending one minute with him protecting me and that's that."

"Darling, such venom! Anyone just overhearing would think you didn't like me very much."

Rowan whirled. Jack had slinked back in the room at some point and sat comfortably slouched in a recliner that flanked the big screen TV.

"n.o.body's talking to you, Rent-A-Cop." She didn't miss the way his eyes narrowed at the dig but she was too incensed to care. She swung back to her father, prepared to dig in her heels. Jack's voice had her swinging back in his direction.

"Simon, why don't you give me a moment with your delight of a daughter." He merely raised one eyebrow when she hissed at him. "Perhaps I can convince her to be more cooperative."

Rowan held her tongue until her father closed the door behind him. As soon as she heard the snick of the latch, she exploded. "What the h.e.l.l are you playing at, Jack?"

He merely stared at her, eyebrow raised. "Rowan, you're becoming overwrought. Perhaps you'd like a drink to calm yourself?"

"No, I do not want a drink." She all but snarled it as he rose slowly out of the chair. She narrowed her eyes as she watched him stretch to his full height, knowing the deliberateness of the gesture was meant to intimidate. Had she been less angry, it might have worked.

"Well, I do." He sauntered over to the bar, turning his back on her as he fixed himself a drink, and infuriating her even more in the process.

The second he turned to face her again, she let fly. "If you think that convincing my father there's some kind of danger from a religious nut is going to be enough to get me into your beda""

"Stop right there." His eyes had gone flat and cold, his voice harsh enough to send chills racing over her skin. "Your father is one of the best friends I've ever had and I take threats to him and his very seriously. Don't flatter yourself into thinking I'd make all this up just to get you under me."

Rowan subsided, properly chastened. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I know you're loyal to him and I'm grateful for it."

He inclined his head. "Apology accepted." His dark eyes glittered at her from above the rim of the gla.s.s as he sipped his scotch. "Of course, I'm not so foolish as to let an opportunity slip past."

Rowan threw her hands into the air. "I give up!"

"Really?"

She narrowed her eyes at his suddenly enthusiastic expression. "No."

"Thought not," he said. "That would've been too good to be true."

Rowan swallowed hard as he advanced on her. She barely refrained from taking a reflexive step backward, only the knowledge that it's what he expected her to do kept her from it. "What're you doing?"

He rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Rowan. I'm not going to make you my love slave or whatever hideous scenario you're imagining in that fertile mind of yours." He set his gla.s.s on the coffee table and spread his arms wide in a gesture intended to put her at ease. Funny how it didn't. "I just want to talk about the plan your father and I have come up with."

"Fine." She watched as he sat in the chair her father had just vacated. Somehow, with him in it, the oversize club chair looked like doll furniture.

"Rowan." She pulled her eyes from the ma.s.s of his torso filling the chair to his face. He rolled his eyes at her, pointed to the couch. "Sit down."

She sat, struggling to appear comfortable and relaxed. Tough job, considering her muscles were so tense they quivered. He knew it tooa"he always did. The son of a b.i.t.c.h.

"So." She crossed her legs, met his gaze with a bravado she was far from feeling. "What's with the Army of G.o.d and why does Dad think they're serious enough to actually do something?"

His gaze flickered over the length of her thighs encased in worn denim that stretched with her movements, but his voice when he answered her was serious. "The main reason is that they've changed leaders in the last six months. And the new guy is a nut."

Rowan frowned, momentarily distracted from the tension being near him produced. "Right. Stephen Job. He wasn't always in charge of the Army?"

Jack shook his head. "No, he was always with them but his vision didn't quite gel with the aspirations of the rest of the leadership. He's not interested in having political powera"he believes what he's preaching is gospel truth and he's made it his mission to convert the ma.s.ses. And those he can't convert, he'll eliminate."

She snorted out a laugh. "Come on, Jack. You don't have to be so melodramatic."

"Rowan." He reached out, snagged her hand in a firm grip. "Six months ago, the leader of the Army of G.o.d, who also happened to be Stephen Job's father, died in a house fire. When they found the body, his hands and feet had been staked to the floor of his bedroom with railroad spikes. He'd been disemboweled and doused with accelerant."

"Ew, Jack." She glared at him and s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand back, rubbed it against her suddenly uneasy stomach. "Do you have to be so graphic?"

"Honey, I'm not trying to shock you here. I'm trying to make a pointa"this guy is so focused on his religious vision, he killed his own father for not sharing the same beliefs."

"How do you know he killed his own father? If that were true, he'd be in jail."

"He'd only be in jail if they could prove it and they can't. And the reason I'm sure is because at the elder Reverend Job's televised funeral, his son delivered the eulogy. And it mainly consisted of listing the reasons why dear old dad had been a sacrifice to the cause, to show the world what judgment awaited them if they didn't become believers. He said that his father's sin of disbelieving was now forgiven and whoever had killed him had saved his soul."

"Oh gag." Rowan made a face. "Okay, he's dangerous. And I can see the wisdom of maybe going away for week or two." She saw the satisfied gleam come into his eyes and hastened to add, "But I don't see why I have to go away with you."

"Because your father trusts me to keep you safe. And he won't be worried about youa"he'll be more alert and focused on his own safety and on catching the good reverend."

She let out an inelegant snort. "He wouldn't trust you so much if he knew you wanted to bend me over the first available surface."

He grinned, the smile moving over his face slowly, eyes taking on a sinister gleam. "Darling, have you been reading my diary?"

Rowan could feel her face burn with mortification and cursed her glib tongue. She stiffened as he slid smoothly out of the chair and barely resisted the urge to shrink into the sofa cushions as he came closer.

He braced one hand on the arm of the couch, the other by her shoulder, effectively caging her in. She kept her head resolutely lowered, refusing to look into those eyes that she knew would now be glowing with hunger and triumph.

"Of course, I don't keep a diary so you couldn't have been reading it." His voice rumbled right in her ear and she fought to control the shudder that rolled over her flesh. "You're not psychic, unless you've been keeping big secrets, so I doubt you have any actual mind-reading abilities."

Rowan swallowed hard, the sound loud in the hushed silence of the room. He chuckled. "So nervous, Rowan." He dragged a blunt fingertip down the line of her throat, raising gooseflesh while she fought to remain still. "I wonder why?"

She kept silent as he shifted, stretching across her body to murmur in her other ear. She nearly whimpered as the motion dragged his heavy sweater over the thin cotton of her T-shirt and her nipples grew diamond hard. He blew gently on her ear, and this time she couldn't contain the shudder.

"Now, where was I?" he whispered. "Ah yesa"I remember now. So, if you haven't been reading my diary," his nose brushed against the heated skin of her neck as his teeth delicately nipped her lobe. "And you haven't any psychic powersa" he laved the lobe with his tongue and she nearly felt her eyes roll back into her head at the incredible heat that pooled low in her belly.

"Then one does wonder how exactly do you know that I'd like to bend you over the first available surface? Unless of coursea"" he gave her earlobe one last flick before moving back "a"you've been having the same thoughts."

Her head snapped up at that, a harsh retort on her lips. She bit it back with difficulty, knowing that all he needed to launch a full-scale attack at this point would be a denial of what was painfully obvious to both of them. She narrowed her eyes, struggling to maintain her even breathing as he kept her within the cage of his arms, looming over her.

She had to swallow twice before she could speak. "Since that is exactly what you've been thinking," she managed to squeak out of her tight throat, "give me one good reason why I should trust you."

He smiled at her, a slight quirking of the lips that told her he knew exactly what she was up to. But he moved back, settling into the chair once again, and she drew a deep, steadying breath.

"Because I say you can." He quirked a brow at her scoff. "What, you don't believe me?"

"Not especially, no."

"I promise I can protect you, Rowan."

"Against a bunch of religious fanatics? Yes, I'm sure you can. The question is, who's going to protect me from you?"

"Do you need protection from me?" At her arch look, he chuckled. "Point taken. But you don't have to worry about me, darling. I promise, I won't take what isn't freely given. All you've got to do is say no."

Rowan sat forward, incredulous. "I've been saying no for a year and a half and I don't see you letting up any!"

"Ah, but you haven't really been all that convincing. When you area"" he picked up his gla.s.s and toasted her with it "a"I'll let up."

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "You know all that bunk you read in romance novels where the heroine says no but really means yes? I've got a newsflash for you, Jack. When I say no, I mean it."

"And I've a newsflash of my own for you, darling. You haven't said no. You just haven't said yes."

Rowan opened her mouth to argue then closed it on a snap. He was right, she realized. She'd evaded, sidestepped and avoided his advances and attentions for nearly two years, but she'd never come right out and said no.

She was still wrestling with that in her mind when she felt something being pushed into her hand. She blinked, looked down to see the tumbler full of amber liquid then up into Jack's impa.s.sive face.

"Have a drink, darling, while we work out the details."

She grimaced at the gla.s.s and set it aside without drinking. "Fine. So you're going to spirit me away for a while. Are you thinking of your place in Big Sur?"

Jack picked up the gla.s.s and put it back in her hand, curling her fingers around it. "No, Big Sur's too close. The Army of G.o.d has their main base of operations in California, so we need to get you out of the state."

She frowned at the gla.s.s, set it aside again. "Okay, that makes sense. Vegas, then?" He kept an apartment there.

He shook his head. "Still too close. Your father and I agreed that we want you as far away as we can get you." He pushed the gla.s.s back into her hand again.

"Dammit, Jack! I don't want a drinka"I just want you to tell me where we'll be headed for this little forced vacation."

"Darling, trust me when I say you'll want the drink when I tell you where we're going."

Rowan went still. "Why? What aren't you telling me?"

"Take a drink first, love, and I'll tell you."

"Fine." She drew the gla.s.s to her lips, grimacing in distaste at the bite of the scotch. "G.o.d, I hate scotch." She took a large gulp, wincing as it burned her throat. "Now," she wheezed, "where are we going?"

"Ireland."

Rowan sputtered, eyes watering as she coughed up scotch. "Ireland?" she gasped, still choking for air.

"Yes, Ireland. Land of leprechauns and Guinness." Still seated, he stretched out an arm to pat her on the back when she continued to cough. "All right there, darling?"

She glared at him as she tried to get her spasming throat under control. "No!"

He frowned. "No, you're not going to be all right?"

She shook her head. "Not what I mean," she gasped. He got up, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him pouring a gla.s.s of water. When he brought it back to her, she s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of his hand and gulped it down with relief.

"Now, that's better isn't it?" he drawled when she'd finished. At her answering glare, he gave an exaggerated shrug. "What?"

"I'm not going to Ireland. Forget it."

"Oh that's what you meant by no." He took the empty water gla.s.s back to the bar then turned to lounge against it. "I'm afraid I have to insist, darling."

"Jack, in case you hadn't noticed, we're in the United States."

"I had noticed that actually. What about it?"

"Between the United States and Ireland there's this big body of water called an ocean."

"Wait, don't tell me," he pressed a finger to his temple as if deep in thought. "The Atlantic, right?"

"Don't be a smart-a.s.s. You know I don't fly and I sure as h.e.l.l don't fly over oceans. You're just going to have to figure out some other place to stash me for a couple of weeks because there will be no flying."

"Rowan, it's perfectly safe," he began, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"I know all the statistics about it being safer than driving, blah, blah, blah. I don't care. G.o.d did not give me wings, man was not meant to conquer the sky. I'm not flying."

"Sweetheart, I don't think you understand." He strode back over and sat next to her. "I'm not giving you a choice."

The calm, easy way he said it somehow made the words themselves all the more harsh. "Don't you tell me what to do, Jack Donnelly. You may be in charge of security around here and you may be the finest-looking thing on two legs, but I'm not getting on a plane with you and that's final!" Her voice rose until she was shouting at the end.

"Never say never, darling." His voice sounded as if it was coming from far away and she frowned.

"Why do you sound funny?" Her voice sounded tiny to her own ears and she blinked as her vision wavered.

"Do I sound funny?" She could hear the laughter in his voice but her vision was blurred so she couldn't see him. She shook her head to try and clear it, pushing herself up to stand, and the room took a sickening turn.

She felt herself begin to fall and flung out a hand to catch herself. It landed on something solid and instinctively she curled her fingers around it to hold on.

She heard a sharp intake of breath then Jack's voice calling out for help. He sounded a little distressed and she struggled to right herself to help, tightening her grip for leverage. She heard a hoa.r.s.e shout, had a brief, blurry view of Jack's face twisted with pain and everything went black.

Jack heaved a sigh of relief when he felt Rowan go limp, though her grip on his d.i.c.k remained uncomfortably firm. He lowered her gently to the couch, propping a beaded pillow under her head before gingerly uncurling her fingers from around his aching c.o.c.k. He drew a deep breath, trying to keep the nausea at bay. Jesus, she had a grip like a teamster, and trust her to grab hold of the one truly vulnerable part of his body.

He studied her limp form with a faint smile. She was going to be seriously p.i.s.sed when she woke in Irelanda"he'd be lucky if she didn't come at him with a hatchet when she came to. He reached down to brush an errant lock of baby-soft hair off her flushed cheek. She looked like a fairy princess under a spell. But he'd wager that unlike a fairy princess, when Rowan woke up, she'd do it swinging.

He glanced up as the door opened and Simon peeked his head around the corner. "All clear?"

"Yeah." He brushed his hand over her cheek once more before rising with some discomfort and walking to the bar. "She's out like a light."

Simon walked over and looked at his child with naked worry on his face.