The phone on his desk rang again. Releasing her hands, Lucas reached for it and heard Tracker’s voice in his ear.
“I’m at the Side Street Grill, the restaurant the concierge recommended to Sophie. Sonny Falcone was here for a short time last night. The bartender doesn’t recall anyone who fits Sophie’s description, but he remembers a redhead—someone he’d never seen before—talking to Sonny. Next thing he knows, she’s gone. Sonny hung around until the place closed down.”
“Mac’s here, and she says that Sophie told her she was bored with Sonny and planned on heading home.” Quickly he summarized the rest of what he’d learned from Ramsey, Mac and his phone conversation with Vincent Falcone.
“Damn,” Tracker said. “I’d like it a hell of a lot better if I knew who was who. You got any orders?”
“Any chance you could scout out Falcone’s vineyard?”
“Can a duck swim? I was going to head out there anyway.”
Lucas’s lips curved slightly as he glanced at his watch. “I should be able to get there in five hours.”
“What about Dr. Lloyd?”
Lucas glanced at Mac. “No. I’ll make arrangements for her here. Just tell me who to call.”
Lucas jotted down the instructions Tracker gave him, but he’d no sooner hung up when Mac said, “I’m going with you.”
“It’s not safe.”
“You know who’s got Sophie, don’t you? Who is it?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s an old enemy of mine by the name of Vincent Falcone. That’s why I wanted Sophie with me down at my grandfather’s cabin. I didn’t foresee that he would go after you. I wasn’t prepared for that at all.” Lifting the phone, he punched in the numbers that Tracker had given him. “I’m going to leave you with someone who’ll keep you safe.”
“If I go with you, they’ll know that they don’t have the right person. They’ll have to let her go.”
Lucas frowned at her. “It’s not that simple. Vincent Falcone is really after me. And I don’t trust him.” He filled her in on what Tracker had told him. “If he finds out that he’s got the wrong woman, I don’t think he’d hesitate to use Sophie to get what he wants.”
“You still need me,” Mac said. “He’ll release her if I sign the papers he wants. I’ll give him my research.”
Lucas stared at her. “You can’t do that. I couldn’t allow it.”
She moved to him then, until they were standing toe to toe. “You might be able to tell Sophie what to do, but not me. I can always do more research. I could never replace Sophie. If you don’t take me with you, I’ll go on my own.”
Lucas studied her. She looked as fearless as he’d always imagined Joan of Arc would look as she was being led to the stake. And just as naive.
He didn’t doubt for a minute that she would do what she said.
“If I agree to take you, there are some ground rules we’ll have to set.”
She leaned down to pick up her bag. “I can do rules. They’re a scientist’s way of life. Why don’t we discuss them on the way?”
MAC LAY CURLED on the seat opposite him. As soon as his private plane had lifted into the air, she’d been out like a light.
Little wonder. Exhaustion bruised her eyes even in sleep. Sipping his wine, Lucas willed himself to relax. How much had either one of them slept in the past—what was it? Three days?
Was that all it had been? He felt as if he’d known her forever. Yet, as he watched her sleep, he wondered if he knew her at all.
Leaning back in his seat, he shifted his gaze out the small window at his elbow. Ever since they’d taken off from D.C., they’d been chasing the sunset. The light outside was soft and glowing. Focusing on it, he tried to think of other things. Tracker had called with information on the party, and the layout of Falcone’s vineyard. They’d even mapped out a tentative plan for searching both the villa and the other buildings. But he didn’t kid himself that Vincent Falcone wouldn’t take excellent precautions. He might not even be keeping Sophie on the premises. They might not find her. He might not see her again.
Closing his eyes, he pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose and dismissed the might nots from his mind. When he opened them, he found his gaze resting on Mac again, and he thought instead of another time he’d watched her sleep, little more than twelve hours ago. She’d been snuggled against him in bed, and he’d been making love to her, slowly, thoroughly. Even as he thought about it, an achy, edgy desire crawled through him anew.
That much hadn’t changed. She’d looked fragile and defenseless then too. Someone a man should protect. And everything had been a lie.
Or had it?
Rising, he moved into the small galley and poured more wine into his glass. Ever since he’d learned about Sophie’s deception, he’d convinced himself Mac had been playacting with him from start to finish. He’d told himself that nothing about her could be trusted. Nothing was real.
He’d been wrong. Her loyalty, her love for his sister was very real.
What else was? Turning, he moved back to settle himself in the seat opposite her.
Her dedication to her work. Her courage. She might think of herself as a coward, but she would risk her own safety, without a second thought, to save Sophie.
That was why he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight until he’d settled things with Falcone. He couldn’t forget the cold fear that had sliced through him when Falcone had revealed that he’d known Lucas had left Mac behind in Florida. What if Falcone had known she was MacKenzie Lloyd and gone after her then? He’d been careless about her safety. He couldn’t forgive himself for that. And he wouldn’t be careless again.
He lifted his glass of wine, then frowned and set it down. His determination to protect her wasn’t the only reason he’d agreed to bring her along. He didn’t like lies, and self-deception was the worst kind. He wanted MacKenzie Lloyd. It was just that simple. Just that vital.
Sitting here watching her sleep was enough to have his blood nearly boiling. He wanted to know everything about her, to discover what made her tick. He wanted to touch her, to discover what pleased her, to watch her come alive when he was inside her again.
He wanted all of her.
If he could make love to her—just once again without any kind of pretense between them—maybe then he could get her out of his system.
And if he couldn’t? He’d just have to face that when he got to it.
He moved to her then, lifting her into his arms and carrying her into the small bedroom at the back of the plane.
SHE SHOT FROM deep sleep to half sleep with a swiftness that had her mind and senses reeling. Blood heating, pulse racing, she was trapped in a place where all she could feel was Lucas—his body pressed tightly against hers at every possible contact point, his hands holding her wrists. And his mouth, insatiable and possessive, moved over hers, drawing everything from her.
Freeing one of her hands, she ran it over his shoulder, testing the hard muscles, craving the warm smooth skin beneath the shirt. Hers. The word brought pleasure and a hint of panic. He was only hers for as long as she could hold on to the dream.
“Wake up. All the way now.”
The voice was soft, seductive. She struggled against it.
His teeth nipped at her bottom lip. “C’mon, Mac. Wake up for me.”
It was the sound of her name that had her eyes snapping open. All she could see was him, his mouth only inches from hers, his eyes dark and so hot.
“What?” She struggled to think. “Where?”
“Shh.” He brushed his lips against hers. “We’re on my private plane. Remember?”
Memories flooded back. They were flying to California to find Sophie. She was in danger. Mac tried to move and found she couldn’t. His body truly was pressed against hers at every possible contact point. It hadn’t been a dream.
“I figure we must be about forty thousand feet over Kansas right now.”
“Lucas.” The word sounded breathless.
“Shh.” He continued to nibble at her lips. “We have to be very quiet. I don’t think you want my pilot to know what we’re doing.”
She felt the rush of heat flood her face, felt the warmth of his chuckle at her ear.
“You’re blushing, Mac. Did I ever tell you how much it excites me when you blush?” He spoke the words against her skin as he traced kisses along her jaw, down her neck. “And I don’t think that Sally the hooker or Fiona the mermaid are genetically capable of being embarrassed. What’s your expert opinion on that?”
“Stop,” she managed to say. “If this is your way of punishing me…”
“Uh-oh. Now the doc is back. I don’t think she blushes either. She’s always so busy analyzing or planning.” When he scraped his teeth along her throat, she moaned.
“Still want me to stop?”
Even as she struggled to form the word, he shifted his weight. For one moment she felt cold, bereft. Then his hands freed the snap of her jeans, pulling and tugging them down her legs.
“Yes,” she breathed as his clever fingers began to move up her inner thighs. “Oh, yes.” She no longer knew what question she was answering.