Tempting Tara Page 6

  “I don’t know what Botkin was trying to tell you, but we’re going to try to find out. Our ‘friends’ are now after you because they think he told you too much. And they don’t want you telling anyone. As for me—they aren’t sure who I am or how much I know, but they’re probably hoping the cops will lead them to me, and then they’ll be able to take care of both of us at once.”

  “Do you think they’re still in my apartment?”

  That seemed to bother Tara almost as much as everything else. He wrapped her hand in both of his. “I don’t know,” he said gently. “But we can assume it isn’t safe for us to go there for now.”

  She took a deep breath and again spoke firmly. “So what do we do now?”

  He smiled and lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “Looks like we’re about to be partners in an investigation, Tara McBride,” he said in the Texas drawl he sometimes affected. “Think you can handle it?”

  SHE COULD handle it, Tara told herself dazedly. She could deal with the knowledge that someone wanted to find her—for deadly reasons she didn’t understand.

  But she wasn’t at all sure she could handle Blake. Not if he kept smiling at her that way. Holding her hand. Kissing her.

  In his own way, Blake was as dangerous to her peace of mind as the man who might even now be pawing through her things in the apartment.

  “You didn’t get much sleep,” Blake said, finally releasing her hand. “Would you like to crash for a while longer?”

  Feeling oddly bereft without the comfort of his touch, she ran her hand through her hair and shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep now. What I’d really like is a shower.”

  He nodded, then frowned. “You don’t have any clean clothes to put on.”

  “I don’t have anything,” she said simply. “Shampoo, hairbrush, toothbrush, underwear.”

  Blake stood. “Okay,” he said, reaching for his duffel bag. He tossed her a plastic bottle and a man’s denim shirt. “Here’s some shampoo. You take a shower and use that shirt for a bathrobe. I’ll go out and find a twenty-four-hour discount store, pick up a few basic supplies, as well as a change of clothes and a pair of sneakers for you. What are your sizes?”

  Surely he wasn’t thinking of buying her underwear, she thought, biting her lips as she stared at him.

  “Tara,” Blake said patiently, “we’re in a difficult situation here. We’re going to have to be practical. Until we get this resolved, we’ll be spending a lot of time together. It’s the only way I can protect you. You’ve trusted me this far. Don’t stop now.”

  Annoyed with herself for acting like a schoolgirl, Tara nodded. “I do trust you. I’m sorry, I just don’t quite know what to do. I’m completely out of my element.”

  “Believe me, sweetheart, I know the feeling.” There was an ironic twist to his words that she didn’t quite understand. “What are your sizes?”

  She reached for the pad and pen that sat on the nightstand. Without hesitating again, she scribbled sizes—bra, panties, shirt, jeans, shoes. She then ripped the sheet off and handed it to him.

  Blake turned and headed for the door. “I won’t be long,” he said. “Put the chain on behind me and don’t open this door for anyone but me.”

  She nodded. “Be careful, Blake.”

  The grin he shot her could only be described as cocky. “Worried about me, are you?”

  “No. I just really need a toothbrush.”

  “Any color preference?”

  “Pink,” she shot back without hesitation.

  He wrinkled his nose. “You’re going to make me go out there and buy a pink toothbrush?”

  She smiled. He hadn’t blinked at buying lingerie, but he complained about the pink toothbrush. “Don’t come back without it,” she ordered imperiously.

  He laughed and let himself out. Then tapped on the door. “Chain,” he said quietly through the wood.

  She didn’t hear him walk away until she’d secured the locks and the chain. Moments later, she heard the muted roar of his truck engine as he drove away from the motel in the early-morning silence.

  But he would be back, she thought, and all her nerve endings seemed to tingle in anticipation.

  JUGGLING BAGS, Blake tapped on the motel-room door a little over half an hour later. “It’s me,” he said, hearing Tara on the other side. “And I have your pink toothbrush,” he added, just in case she had any doubt of his identity.

  The door opened. She stood there with wet hair and clean-scrubbed face, wearing his oversize denim shirt, which covered her to her knees. Beneath the shirt, her legs and feet were bare.

  And, despite his promise that she could trust him, and his own private vow that he would not take advantage of her temporary dependence on him, Blake was hit with a wave of hunger so intense that he had to clear his throat. He’d wanted Tara McBride since the first time he’d seen her. He wanted her even more now.

  He told himself not to even think along those lines until he’d gotten her out of the mess he’d dragged her into. But, damn, she looked good fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but his shirt.

  Her expression self-conscious, she stood back and let him enter, then closed and locked the door behind her. Trying to put her at ease, Blake hid his reaction to her and tossed all but one bag on the bed she’d slept in.

  “The selection was rather limited, but this stuff should do for now. I’ve brought breakfast, too,” he added, tapping the fast-food bag in his hand. “I’ll set it out while you get dressed.”

  Tara dug into the well-stuffed blue plastic bags on the bed, pulling out jeans and two T-shirts—one aquaand-white striped, the other white with red piping—a package of white sport socks, white canvas sneakers, a deodorant stick “for ladies only,” a travel-size hairdryer, and a hairbrush. Blake had bought everything he could think of that a woman might need when she was stranded with nothing.

  She blushed rosily when she found the undergarments he’d selected—white lace bikini panties and a lacy white bra.

  He liked it when she blushed. He got the feeling it wasn’t something she did very often.

  And then she found the things in the bottom of the bag. A powder compact. Blush, mascara and lipstick. He’d had to ask for help with those selections, but it was worth it, judging by Tara’s reaction. Blake’s sister had once told him that a woman couldn’t help but feel better about herself if she was wearing a little makeup.

  Blake had hoped Tara would like the stuff, but he hadn’t expected her to look up at him with tears in her beautiful sky-blue eyes.

  “I—er—know it’s not the good stuff you probably buy at Saks or Neiman’s, but it’s the best I could find at this hour.”

  “Blake, thank you.”

  The tears, the slight tremor in her lower lip, the little break in her voice shook him. “Tara, it’s only makeup.”

  She gave him an unsteady smile and made a quick swipe at her cheek. “I know. I guess I’m still a little tired.”

  “You need food,” he said awkwardly, willing to do just about anything to dry those tears. “I brought muffins. I hope you like blueberry.”

  Her smile deepened. “I love blueberry.”

  Relieved that she seemed to have her emotions under control again, he nodded. “There are two foam cups of coffee getting cold in the bottom of the bag. You might want to hurry and get dressed.”

  She gathered her new clothes into her arms. “I’ll just be a minute,” she promised.

  She paused as she passed him on the way to the bathroom. After only a momentary hesitation, she rose on tiptoe and pressed a quick kiss to his unshaven cheek. “It was a very sweet gesture, Blake,” she murmured, drawing away. “Thank you.”

  Without even stopping to think about it, he snagged a hand behind her wet head, pulled her toward him and planted a long, firm kiss against her mouth. This was the third time he’d kissed her, and each time she tasted sweeter, more inviting. If he wasn’t careful, if he kept indulging in those a
ddictive kisses, he was going to do something monumentally stupid.

  Blake’s pulse was racing when he pulled away, and Tara’s eyes were huge. He took a quick step back, out of the danger zone.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice husky. “Now go get dressed before I forget all those promises about how trustworthy I am.”

  She wasted no time closing herself into the bathroom.

  Blake ran an unsteady hand through his hair and wasted a few minutes calling himself every synonym he could think of for fool. And then he turned to set out blueberry muffins and rapidly cooling coffee.

  They had a long day ahead of them, with no time for distractions. Once he’d figured out what the hell was going on, and had got everything under control...well, then he would see whether Tara McBride still considered him “sweet.”

  TARA AVOIDED Blake’s eyes while they ate their hasty breakfast. He probably thought she was an idiot. She couldn’t believe she’d made such a fuss over a few inexpensive cosmetics. She wasn’t one to burst into tears that way. She must have been more tired than she’d thought.

  As for that kiss...well, she simply couldn’t think about that right now.

  After they’d eaten, Blake took a shower while Tara dried her hair and applied a touch of the makeup. She told herself it was merely a measure of her stress and exhaustion that she almost sniffled again when she opened her bright pink toothbrush.

  She tried to block out the sound of the water running in the shower. Tried to push away the mental images of Blake standing naked beneath it. But it was impossible to forget the feeling of his mouth pressed hard to hers.

  Don’t do this, Tara.

  She was in no position to get involved with anyone, much less an enigmatic, unpredictable, adventure-seeking private investigator. Even before she’d lost her job, when she’d seen Blake occasionally and had felt the tug of attraction every time, she’d known it was foolish. A dashing P.I., she’d told herself, couldn’t possibly be interested in a serious, routine-bound tax attorney.

  She had never learned to flirt, something Blake did with a skill and enthusiasm that indicated years of successful practice. Tara hadn’t even had a steady boyfriend in high school. Her cousin Savannah, who’d been the captain of the cheerleader squad and extremely popular with the boys, had accused Tara of intimidating the guys with her brains and ambition.

  Not that flirting had paid off for Savannah, who’d ended up pregnant and ignominiously dumped by her boyfriend at seventeen. Witnessing her cousin’s humiliation, Tara had told herself that she wasn’t interested in dating—and then had tried to believe it.

  College had been a blur of studying and exams. Tara had finished in three years and had then been accepted into Harvard Law School. After that had come the offer from the law firm in Atlanta.

  She’d dated now and then, of course. She’d even tried to have a meaningful relationship with a suitable young attorney whose ambition matched her own—a bit too closely, actually, since it had been his jealousy over her success that had driven them apart.

  But no way was she prepared to indulge in a fling with Blake. As far as she could see, nothing could come of it but a broken heart and another devastating blow to her already battered ego. Maybe if she had learned to flirt somewhere along the way...if she could trust herself to enjoy Blake’s attentions without reading too much into them, or wanting too much from him...

  If only she was as reckless and adventurous as Blake... But she wasn’t.

  So, no more kissing Blake, no matter how sweet he was, she told herself sternly. From now on, she was keeping her lips strictly to herself.

  Lacking a case, she scooped the cosmetics into the same blue plastic bag Blake had brought them in. She wondered if she should wash her worn lingerie out by hand and let it dry over the shower rod. She didn’t know how long Blake intended to remain in this room. Not long, she hoped. The walls were already beginning to close in on her.

  She heard the bathroom door open, and automatically glanced around. Blake emerged wearing a pair of jeans and the denim shirt she’d had on earlier. His hair was wet, and he hadn’t yet buttoned the shirt. It hung loose over his jeans, revealing a sleek, firm chest glistening with a sheen of moisture. And Tara felt her knees start to melt.

  There were parts of her, she thought in despair, that hadn’t yet gotten the message that this man was out of her league.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said, apparently oblivious to her stunned reaction to his appearance. “The stolen paintings may be the key to finding out what’s going on. If we can find them, maybe we can find our answers.”

  Tara cleared her throat. “And how would you suggest we go about that?”

  “I have this friend...” He rubbed his clean-shaven chin and frowned, looking thoughtfully at Tara. “Maybe you’d better stay here. You’ll be safe here.”

  No way was she staying in this claustrophobic little room while Blake went off looking for clues. She shook her head. “No.”

  “Tara...”

  “No, Blake. I’d go crazy sitting here alone, wondering where you were and when you’d be back. Wondering if the next knock on the door would be you...or a man with a gun. Wherever you’re going, I want to go with you.”

  He sighed. “I can’t blame you, really. I wouldn’t want to be left behind, either.”

  Relieved, she nodded. “So, what next?”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s still early. Maybe we can catch the Spider before he gets busy.”

  “The...Spider?” she repeated, hoping she hadn’t heard him correctly.

  He gave her a wry smile. “That’s what they call him.”

  “And what’s his real name?”

  “I’m not sure anyone knows that...including him.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed, then firmed her chin. “All right. Let’s go find this Spider person.”

  He chuckled. “Let me finish getting dressed. Spider’s pad is one place I definitely wouldn’t want to go into barefoot.”

  She pictured a dark, deadly web and almost shuddered, then chided herself for letting her imagination get away from her. She sat on the end of her bed and watched from the corner of her eye while Blake dried his hair, brushed his teeth, buttoned and tucked in his shirt. It was a small room, she reminded herself. She had no choice but to watch him.

  He sat on the edge of his own bed, and opened the drawer to the tiny nightstand. He pulled out an oddlooking leather sheath with straps. And then he rolled up the right leg of his jeans.

  Tara watched in open curiosity as Blake strapped the thin leather sheath to his leg. “Is that a...knife?” she asked, staring at the black handle nestled into the holder.

  Without immediately answering, Blake pulled on his boots, making sure the knife handle was still accessible above the right one, then smoothed his loose, straight-cut jeans down over them, completely concealing the sheath. And then he looked at Tara.

  “It never hurts to be prepared,” he said, confirming her guess.

  Tara had to remind herself that she’d insisted he take her along.

  Blake carefully gathered every article they’d brought into the motel with them and shoved them into the duffel bag. Everything that didn’t fit went into the plastic bags he’d carried in earlier. By the time he’d loaded everything into the truck, there was no evidence that they’d been there except for the trash in the wastebaskets.

  “We won’t be coming back here?” Tara asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Even if we have to spend another night in a motel, I’d rather be in a different one.”

  She glanced somewhat wistfully around the tiny room as she followed Blake out. Maybe it had been small and dingy, but it had been safe. And all of a sudden, she wasn’t in such a hurry to leave.

  5

  THE ATLANTA NEIGHBORHOOD Blake drove through was one that Tara usually avoided. Crumbling, abandoned buildings and trash-filled empty lots surrounded them. It was still early enough that there was little traffic on
the streets, and few people on the broken sidewalks. The heavily clouded skies overhead emphasized the grim hopelessness of the area.

  Blake drove the truck into a particularly dark, ugly alley, and parked in front of a couple of broken, rusted Dumpsters. He nodded toward a metal door almost hidden in the shadows. The building appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. “Spider’s usually in there this early in the day.”

  “This is where he lives?” Tara’s voice sounded a bit shaky even to her own ears.

  “On and off. You coming in with me or waiting out here?”

  She reached immediately for the door handle. “I’m staying close to you.”

  He flashed her a quick grin. “I like the sound of that.”

  She gave him a chiding look—how could he be flirting when their lives were on the line? But she still couldn’t help smiling back at him.

  Blake paused with one hand on the door latch. “I’d, er, better warn you that Spider’s a bit...well, odd.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, that possibility had already crossed my mind.”

  To Tara’s surprise, the heavy metal door wasn’t locked. It opened with a shiver-inducing shriek from its rusted hinges. Whoever was inside had to have heard their arrival.

  Tara didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  Blake took Tara’s hand as he led her into the building. He did that a lot, she mused. He was obviously a toucher. She never had been, herself. But that was beginning to change.

  Inside, the old building smelled of dirt, mold, decay... and a few other odors Tara didn’t want to try to identify. It seemed to be empty, except for piles of refuse and abandoned parts to old warehouse equipment. What little light there was came from high, metalmesh-reinforced windows. Even if the sun had been shining brightly outside, the filthy glass wouldn’t have let in much light. As it was, there was hardly enough illumination for them to pick their way carefully through the maze of junk toward the even more deeply shadowed back of the building.