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  As if physically separating herself from Blake would solve her confusion. Putting space between their bodies wouldn’t stop the feelings that had rushed in on her tonight—fears about their new-found trust, their reforged connection and reignited intimacy.

  Layla was scared to death. Only it had nothing to do with Jack.

  She flashed back to the comment Blake had made when they were rehashing her nightmarish ordeal, once they had returned from their ride. He’d helped her work through her fear, helped her feel safe again. Then he’d told her that, when they got back home, he was buying her a cell phone. No, she didn’t have to chip in. No, she didn’t have to pay him back. No, he’d never accept her money.

  But that sounded like…well, like a commitment. Like he planned to buy her that phone and then call her on it, often, to make plans for…the future?

  Her chest felt a little tight, like she couldn’t get enough air. Questions marched through her mind.

  Did Blake want things to progress between them? Did she want that? Had he come back into her life right at this crucial time because it was meant to be, because they were meant to be?

  Tonight they’d plowed through the past, their miscommunications, their mistakes. She had to admit it. She feared their deepening connection, what it meant to her heart, the risk involved in depending on him again. The hurt he could bring would crush her flat.

  Yet all the old emotions and desires she’d felt for him before must have merely lain dormant inside her. How else could she explain this pull she felt from him, a need in her core that only Blake knew how to satisfy. It terrified her to need someone the way she needed Blake, attraction beyond her control, vulnerability immune to her fierce independence.

  “Oh, Blake,” she whispered to the stillness. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Let go. Take a risk. You won’t know what lies ahead until you dive in . The strange voice inside her had to be her heart. But this was not its usual theme.

  In the past twenty-four hours she’d had her world turned upside down, inside out. The only time she felt right, safe, was close to Blake.

  This was the last thing she’d expected.

  Air-conditioning from a vent above her head clicked on and blasted cold air down her back. She shook with a chill, but didn’t dare turn it down. Not when she’d spend the entire night lying next to Blake’s heat. Especially if he turned to her yet again and wrapped himself around her. Lust pulled tight across her abdomen. She ignored it.

  Sliding under the sheets again, air-conditioned-cold on her side, cozy and warm on his, she laid on her side facing him. He slept on his back, limbs sprawled out. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, beautifully sculpted like the rest of him. She’d bet he was quite a sight naked. Despite herself, an appreciative smile tugged at her lips as that image formed fully in her mind.

  She let herself wonder how it would feel to lie beside him some night after they’d made love. When she’d trail her fingers across his tan, toasty skin, feel his texture and warmth, recall how he had felt in her arms, moving with her in the heat of passion.

  Desire played slip-n-slide inside her. Sighing, she caved into the need to stroke a lock of hair back from his face. It felt silky, gliding easily where she guided it, blending with the rest of his dark strands.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, “for helping me forget my fears and remember what it means to have fun.”

  Another feeling deserved recognition, deserved to be said aloud. A soft smile of wonder touched her lips. “I’ve missed you, Blake Desanto.”

  Late in the night, when he reached for her unconsciously in his sleep, she let his arms come around her, pulling her tight to him. His breath coasted across her hair. She nestled her cheek against his broad chest. So safe. Like home.

  Layla found sleep in his embrace, wrapped in the protective shelter of his body. She felt total surrender… falling …sweet dreams.

  Chapter 14

  Layla woke to the plunk and dribble-drip of the shower turning off. She hadn’t even felt Blake move.

  Sunlight streamed into their room, heralding the bright, warm day ahead. Even after revealing so much, some undisclosed feelings were still unnamed. Would they share those feelings with words, or would their bodies speak for them?

  Stretching and yawning, she wiggled her toes under the covers, looking beyond them to the chair where Blake had set his clothes. Her eyebrows rose on her forehead.

  Hmmm… Did that mean Blake might exit the bathroom in the nude?

  A naughty thrill stirred her blood and awakened her more thoroughly than the morning sunlight. She envisioned him, sleek and wet, stepping out of a cloud of steam like a naked god descending from Mount Olympus. Still sleepy, she didn’t question this impatient yearning to see him sans clothes.

  The bathroom knob turned. She bit her lip, held her breath.

  Then let it out in a sigh of disappointment. There was no steam at all, and he was not nude. A towel covered him from the waist down, although that was a memorable sight in itself. Droplets clung to the ends of his hair and dripped down his back, chest and shoulders, catching between ridges of muscle before sliding down, soaking into the towel that rode low on his hips.

  “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not polite to stare?” he said.

  She blinked slowly. “They didn’t have my view.”

  He arched an eyebrow, shook his head and went for his clothes. He wouldn’t take the bait of her innuendo. Totally unlike him.

  Layla frowned. “Why are you all uptight this morning?”

  He paused beside the chair, picked up a clean T-shirt and turned at the waist. The corners of his eyes were pinched. “When I woke up with you in my arms, I figured it was a dream. I didn’t want to wake up. By the time I looked at the clock again it was nine. With checkout at ten, I’ve got a bad case of wanting you and nothing I can do about it.”

  “Oh. That soon?”

  “Yup. So sue me if I’m not Mr. Cheerful.” He turned to her completely and gave her a full frontal view.

  Eyes riveted on his amazing abs, she licked her lips.

  He threw his T-shirt down, set his hands at his waist. “If you stay in that bed much longer I’m gonna walk over there, drop this towel and we’ll be paying for two nights here.” Morning sunlight poured over his tanned skin. She didn’t reply for fear of drooling. “Next time we’re in bed together you won’t be sleeping. I guarantee it. Layla?”

  She raised her eyes and met his potent gaze. It pinned her back against the headboard. That potency—it knocked her off balance, tipped her world sideways until her firm grip turned slippery, all sense of safety and control sliding from her grasp. Again, hesitation sprang up to dance with desire. Her body pulled toward him, her mind pushed away in self-preservation. So conflicting, unbearable, yet intoxicating. “Yes?”

  “There’s nothing I want more than to satisfy that curiosity on your face. But unless you want to lose half a day, when we could be searching for Rob, you’d better get out of bed. My self-control has a limit. I passed it half an hour ago.”

  Duty won out. As it always did.

  She rose from the bed and somehow walked by Blake without gliding her hand down the front of him, soaking up the feel of his damp, sun-warmed skin, memorizing the planes and muscular ridges of his torso. She’d never felt such intense physical attraction. Never wanted a man so completely, so desperately.

  Desperately?

  Layla squeezed her hands into fists and hurried past Blake into the bathroom. Desperate equaled dependent. And she’d never reduce herself to dependency. Not for any man.

  Turning the faucet temperature over from cold to hot, she discovered the reason there’d been no sultry exit from his shower. It also confirmed Blake’s warning over his limited self-control. Warm water pelted her skin as steam cleared her head from the magic of the night before and the pull of attraction this morning.

  She had to focus on Robby. Not the frightening strength of her awakeni
ng desire for Blake. No matter how tempting a distraction.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, she saw Blake hit the End button on his cell phone. He turned. The grim expression he wore made her skin feel itchy and tight, as if she hadn’t applied enough lotion after using the generic motel soap. “Blake, what is it?”

  “Remember Officer Munson?” When she nodded, Blake said, “He called to say he’s positive it was Jack who tried to attack you last night.”

  “Oh.” The room seemed to dip and sway.

  “But Jack disappeared onto the highway before Munson caught him. Says there’s a pretty strong connection and motive. But as of now, until they interrogate him, it’s all circumstantial.”

  “So he’s out there. Heading in the same direction we are.” She gulped air that didn’t seem to reach her lungs.

  “He’s probably way ahead of us by now.”

  “Or waiting.” She reached out to grasp the back of the wicker chair. “Any moment he could show up. We won’t know it’s him until he’s right on top of us.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think.” He strode to her, his expression offering reassurance. He caressed her arm. “Munson said if we can track him down, lure him into custody, Munson will bring him back here for questioning. Then Jack will be far behind us. We can make it to Sturgis without looking over our shoulders the whole time.”

  “We’re bait.”

  Blake rubbed the back of his neck. “Sort of. But only long enough to draw him out of hiding. One phone call to Munson, and Jack goes into police custody.”

  Terrible apprehension swirled inside her. “Until then…?”

  “We ride hard.” Blake’s jaw set with determination. “And don’t look back.”

  *

  By noon, the sun blazed like a fiery ball of anger above them. The blue sky paled as if the heat had sucked it dry of color. The air was thin, vaporous, and the vista sparse, endless. Like the miles that stretched before them on the highway.

  Another hour had passed before Blake suddenly downshifted. Layla felt the motorcycle jerk, slowing quickly to accommodate the sudden drop in speed of the traffic that had collected and surrounded them. Within half a minute they went from a smooth seventy miles per hour down to thirty. Then twenty.

  Too slow to outpace a revenge-obsessed cop.

  Layla peeked over Blake’s shoulder. Road rage built like a volcano inside her. Orange barrels. Construction. Great. Just great.

  Traveling by motorcycle took merging to a perilous level. Cars cut them off and trucks packed them in tight. Heat rose up from the newly laid, black pavement in punishing waves. Inside her helmet the air felt too close. As she grew sweaty and hot under her coat, the leather plastered to her skin.

  How much longer would she have to stand this? It was unbearable.

  But not nearly as challenging as keeping her stomach from tying itself in knots when she glimpsed police lights throwing out red and blue flashes. Dread as dense as coal hit the pit of her stomach.

  Construction or…an accident?

  The thought made her stiffen. Her lungs burned, struggling to pull in oxygen despite the pressure that sat on her chest. A prickle began at the nape of her neck, then spread and tightened her scalp. A bead of sweat slid down her temple, stung the corner of her eye. Or maybe something else pricked her eyes at the sight of the cop cars up ahead in the distance. Her eyesight blurred, beginning to fade in and out.

  A horrible sensation scraped down her spine like the point of a blade.

  She had to get out of this helmet. Out of this heat and traffic. Before the flashbacks started.

  Wrapping her arms around Blake, she squeezed as hard as she could.

  Blake felt pressure close around his ribs. It drove the air from his lungs, fogging the visor of his helmet. He couldn’t see a thing.

  He tore the helmet off in time to catch a glimpse in his side mirror of a black, tinted-window, Crown Victoria. Red letters on the license plate read Ohio backwards in his mirror.

  But even backwards he could read them clearly—they were six inches from his rear fender.

  Shock jolted him. Then adrenaline tunneled through his veins. It sharpened his mind, centered him. Reminding Blake that he was in control, not Johnson. Mentally, Blake had already prepared for this moment.

  Livewire tension ran through his body like an electric current, galvanizing him. He pried one of Layla’s hands off his coat. Slick with perspiration it slipped free and he shoved his helmet into her palm and curved her fingers around it. He needed both hands and the freedom to see, move and respond quickly.

  Gut instinct and firm intent guided him. He maneuvered strategically through traffic. Just when Johnson had veered, swerved and nosed his way into place behind them again, Blake sped up, slipped between cars, guiding Johnson toward the far right lane.

  If the police cars he saw in the distance were a few miles closer, he’d ride up to them and lead Johnson right into their custody. He’d have Munson on the phone and the troopers could hold Jack until Munson came and got him for questioning. But they were too far off. And Johnson was too damn close.

  An exit lay ahead. Blake planned to get the hell off this freeway, out of the heat, and out of Jack’s game of cat and mouse.

  Thirty seconds—all he needed to make that call to Munson. Then he’d deal with Jack in whatever ways necessary. With his bare hands, if he had to. With pleasure.

  Then a sign came upon them fast. It directed the right lane to merge left. Shit .

  Traffic hemmed them in. Johnson was two cars back and one lane away. The pattern of the rubber grip of his handlebars embedded into Blake’s clenched hands. The semi to their right edged closer. Blake shifted and shot ahead, rode the white dashes between cars and swerved in front of the semi before their lane was swallowed.

  Two-tenths of a mile from freedom another sign loomed ominously. Exit Closed. Blake’s jaw clenched. To hell with that .

  At the last second he broke from traffic and tore off down the ramp, between the two huge Road Closed signs. His Harley skidded across a spread of loose gravel. He tried to slow down but the bike responded to his brake by sliding sideways down the ramp. His boot slammed to the ground, skinning the sole as he struggled to keep eight hundred pounds of metal upright. Cement dust flew up. The bike skidded until Blake angled the bike into a crater-sized pot hole. His front tire hit the lip and they popped up, airborn for five seconds, then slammed down. This time when his hand clamped the break it worked.

  They stopped at the bottom of the ramp. His boots met the pavement to balance the motorcycle. It had never felt so good to have solid ground beneath his feet. Chest heaving, he reached for his cell phone while searching for Johnson.

  But Jack hadn’t followed. Blake watched the undercover car, with its shamrock glinting on the grill, packed in traffic, moving sluggishly across the bridge and beyond it. The next exit wasn’t for another thirty miles.

  Had he actually given Johnson the slip?

  Which would make things much safer for Layla. Although Blake would’ve loved the satisfaction of seeing Johnson in the back of Officer Munson’s police car.

  Blake frowned then, wondering how long it would’ve taken for the local police to come and collection Johnson, until Munson showed up and took over. He shuddered to think what might’ve happened in the meantime. Who, of the two of them, would be left standing. Which was mightier, the bullet or the black belt.

  Because it might’ve come down to that. Evening a score of revenge.

  And where would that have left Layla?

  As if she’d heard him think her name, her hands tugged at his coat. Blake cursed himself for thinking about Jack before he considered Layla, her fear of motorcycles and his unintended recklessness just now.

  Removing his helmet from her shaking hands, he flipped down the kickstand and levered himself off the bike. Then he pulled off her helmet. Strands of hair were plastered to her damp forehead. Terror-stricken, blue-violet
eyes met his.

  Regret slammed into his chest. He dropped both helmets and pulled her into his arms. A kiss or two found its way into her hair. He rocked her gently. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Her voice was muffled against his jacket and he pulled back to hear her words. He gently brushed the hair away from her pale face as she spoke. “I-I couldn’t understand what was happening. All I saw were the police lights. I thought of Kenny’s accident and…I almost had another flashback. Like the one I had when you found me on the road after the Handle Bar.”

  So that’s what had happened. He had no idea the accident still plagued her.

  “Then I thought you were just trying to get through traffic because you understood I needed a break from riding. B-but I looked in your mirrors and saw the look on your face. It was Jack in the car behind us. Wasn’t it?”

  Blake nodded. “I’d planned for him to follow us—without catching us. Everything was going fine until I lost control when we hit that gravel on the exit ramp.”

  “Did we lose him?” she asked, anxious hope in her voice.

  “Looks like it.” Blake pointed out Jack’s car still stuck in slow-moving traffic a half-mile up the highway. “The next exit isn’t for thirty-some miles. With the construction backup, there’s little chance of him coming back this way for another few hours.”

  She released a weary sigh. “Blake, I need to stop for awhile. Even if he is way ahead of us it still terrifies me to be on the same stretch of road as Jack.”

  He stroked her hair. “Whatever you need, baby. That’ll give me time to call Officer Munson and let him know Jack’s approximate location. Maybe Munson can get a hold of the cops directing traffic through the construction. They might be able to pick him up as he passes by.”

  Layla shut her eyes. “God, I hope so.”

  Making Layla feel safe again took first priority. Then he’d call Munson.

  Getting back onto his Harley, Blake turned right. He followed a progression of cars, hoping they’d lead him to the nearest gas station. Instead, the cars filed into a field that had been converted into a parking lot.