Where would he have hidden the information Joe needed so desperately? Information that would seal the government’s case against the remaining Fuentes family? Hell, did he even have the proof his journal had stated he had? Everything else in that damned book had been a lie.
Oh, he had really managed to mess her life up completely. The journal claimed she knew the location of the proof he had taken against the Fuentes family. Pictures and video discs of Santiago and Jose Fuentes along with Roberto Manuelo, the cartel general that had been killed the night Grant had tried to kidnap a female DEA agent, coordinating the drugging and rapes of over a dozen women in the past two years. The location of the lab where the drug was created and even the identities of several influential political figures involved with Fuentes.
In the past week, Maggie had learned exactly why the police department was so eager to drop any charges they could bring against her in return for the information they were looking for.
So why couldn’t the bastard Grant just write it in his journal with all the lies he had written against her? He could have included some truth in it, just for a change of pace.
She pushed her fingers through her hair, the circles in her mind exhausting her. There were no answers, and the cold suspicion in Joe’s eyes was killing her. He had changed since Grant’s death. Since he had been forced to kill Grant, rather. There was an edge of unrelenting ice in his expression, in his eyes, that hadn’t been there before. Amusement had always lurked in the chocolate brown gaze, sensuality; playfulness had always curved his lips.
Even when they had argued, when she had walked out on the relationship they had, there had been regret, sadness, softness. There was none of that now. This wasn’t the man she had given her heart to.
So why was he protecting her? Why did he give a damn? Those were questions he had refused to answer since their arrival at the cabin, questions that garnered no more than a cold silence.
At this rate, she was going to have frostbite before the month was out.
“You’re a sitting target out here.”
Maggie flinched at the sound of his voice from the doorway. The dark sensuality of the tone couldn’t be hidden, no matter how coldly furious he might be. It throbbed just beneath the ice and sent heat curling through her system.
She hated that. She hated the response to him, unwilling and unwanted, that she had learned she had no hope of controlling.
She stared into the forest, watching the mist rise like a veil of dreams above the treetops to meet the heat of the rising sun.
“If the Fuentes family knew where I was, then they would have already struck.” She shrugged her shoulders, wishing she had worn a bra beneath the loose T-shirt she had slept in.
Her nipples were hardening, her breasts were swelling, and this was no time for it. She could feel the steadily rising sense of expectation building within her. She had spent a week with Joe, alone, and the tension was only growing worse by the day.
“You aren’t showing much faith in my protective abilities,” he grunted.
“Of course I am.” She kept staring into the forest; she wasn’t about to watch him. Watching him only aroused her further. “I’m sitting here watching the dew meet the sunrise, in plain view. See, I trust you to know I’m well hidden.”
“You make about as much sense now as you ever did.” His voice turned surly. “Come inside, I have coffee ready.”
Yeah, she had smelled it for the past half hour, tempting, strong, teasing her senses. Rather like Joe did.
This was not going to work.
“You’re sitting out here pouting,” he accused, when she didn’t move to follow him.
“I don’t pout, Joe,” she reminded him. “I think.”
“You think too much then,” he growled. “Now get your butt in the house. Maybe the coffee will even out your temper.”
She clenched her teeth. She was not going to argue with him. Arguing with him was a pointless exercise. It was like beating her head against a wall. She only ended up hurting herself.
“I don’t have a temper.” She was restrained. Hell, he was still alive, wasn’t he?
“Uh-huh.” Was that amusement she heard in his voice?
After a week?
She couldn’t help herself, she turned and looked at him and her senses went into overload. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. The leanly muscled contours of his hair-matted chest brought back memories better forgotten. Memories she had never forgotten.
The warmth of him as he came over her, his thighs parting hers, the feel of his cock nudging against her sex, filling her slowly, riding her fiercely.
Maggie shivered as her vagina clenched with a sudden spasm of hungry need, a clenching of lust as the heated dampness began to prepare her for a touch that certainly wasn’t coming. She jerked her eyes from his chest and lifted them to his face. Beard-roughened, the darker growth contrasted with the dark blond, rakishly cut hair that framed his face. The two days’ growth was nearly black, and gave him a piratical appearance that was too mouthwatering for words. It just made his lips appear sexier, more lickable. And she really wanted to lick them.
“Come on, Maggie. Coffee and breakfast. Then we can talk.” He held his hand out to her, the ice that had filled his eyes for the past week thawing, warming.
Maggie licked her lips nervously, feeling her heart racing in her chest, her nerve endings sensitizing. She rose from the chair, though she ignored his outstretched hand as she watched him warily. He was like a damned chameleon, and the abrupt changes were throwing her off balance.
“So where’s the prick I’ve spent the last seven days with?” she asked as she moved around him to enter the cabin, feeling the walls closing in on her as he stepped in behind her.
He had a habit of that, sucking all the space out of a room until nothing remained except him. At least, that was all she was aware of. The warm, cheery tones of burnt reds and soft desert browns of the living room were lost on her. The couch was wide, comfortable. Joe liked making love on couches. Floors. Coffee tables. Kitchen counters.
She stepped back quickly, giving him plenty of room as the corner of his lips kicked up in a grin.
“Same cautious Maggie,” he said, as he moved past her and headed to the kitchen. “How long did it take me to get you into bed the first time?”
“Not long enough,” she stated. “And I am not having sex with you again, Joe.” Yeah. Right. Her body was all in agreement on that one. In another second, the dampness building on the folds of her sex was going to start dampening the fleece of her pajama bottoms. If it wasn’t already.