Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [15]
Jago Fitzgerald was waiting—waiting with that stillness inherent to all of nature’s nocturnal hunters. Men of his caliber were few and far between, and quite treacherous to females. They sensed small changes in a woman’s body, reaction to the lethal peril they posed. The pounding of her heart, the rapid, short breaths, and—damn her body—the tightening of her breasts.
Fortunately, her black sweater hid that reaction from this arrogant man in the darkness. Her little secret. A woman needed every advantage in dealing with a male like Jago Fitzgerald, for she had the unshakable sense Netta was right.
He was waiting for her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Wanting was a dangerous thing. Asha knew this. Everyone wants something: a Lamborghini Murcielago, more money, a closet full of Prada shoes. With many women it’s to pig out on chocolate. That didn’t mean getting what you wanted was good for you.
Asha suddenly wanted Jago Fitzgerald with a soul-deep craving that was alarming. Terrifying. Wanted him enough to reach out and take whatever he offered, asking for nothing but tonight. She could see the whole scene play out in her mind. His mouth taking hers, savagely. Her clinging to him with a passion the like of which she’d never known.
She wondered if he would make love with that same controlled force now emanating from him, or would he snap and let loose demons because he too wanted? Both scenarios rattled Asha. Both images were frighteningly vivid, crackling with the power of clairvoyance. Worse, she figured he was likely aware of her hesitation. Aware of why.
As badly as she desired him, she reminded herself this man was passing through. Oh, he’d enjoy a hot fling to wile away his stay in Hicksville, Kentucky. If so, he should target Netta, not her. Asha didn’t play with customers—Rule Number One. She wasn’t part of the package at The Windmill.
“How long are we to be neighbors, Mr. Fitzgerald?” she asked softly.
He smiled. Not a fool, Asha didn’t trust that smile. It was the same smile the Wolf wore when Little Red Riding Hood exclaimed, My, what big teeth you have! Women were born knowing not to trust a sexy smile like that.
“I want to gain a feel for the area. Ramble a bit. I plan to use The Windmill as my base—if that’s all right. Why I wanted the bungalow instead of a room—I like to spread out . . . have room to work.” He lifted the cigarillo to his lips, took a draw and then exhaled a narrow stream of smoke into the air. The cherry-scented smoke swirled around her with a wizard’s magic.
“I should be fool enough to help the enemy by providing a roof over your head?” Tired after being on her feet most of the day, Asha considered joining him on the rock wall, but deemed that would be too close.
“I’m not your enemy, Asha.” His white teeth flashed in the night. “And I am a paying customer.”
“True, you are a customer. Whether you prove to be the enemy or not, I shall reserve judgment.” The autumn night seemed to enfold around them, to cocoon them in an intimacy that left her breathless. It was the sheer force of this man. His radiant heat reached out and nearly overwhelmed her fragile sense of self-preservation. She needed to get away from him, fast, before it was too late. “Goodnight, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“’Night, Asha Montgomerie. Pleasant dreams,” he wished in a low sexy voice that promised they’d be about him.
Asha started to walk away, but those soft words made her turn around. Jago still sat, smoking. The sensual hint of cherry trailed after her, taunting her for being a coward. Yes, she was a coward. She ran when she wanted to step between those strong thighs, press her body against his chest, and see if that cherry smoke tasted as tantalizing as it smelled.
Never in her whole life had she ever considered taking a stranger to her bed. While a modern woman, there was still a wee dram of old-fashioned morals within her. The only way a man would