Riptide by Catherine Coulter

provocative thing to do, and she knew it. For the first time in so

very long, actually, longer than she could remember, she allowed

herself to enjoy what was happening here.

He didn’t say anything, then suddenly he pulled her tightly

against him again. He was rubbing his big hands up and down her

back. His breathing was sharp, ragged. “I was scared to death when

you were in that damned gym parking lot. When he shot that dart

at you, Savich had to just about sit on me. I knew I shouldn’t move,

shouldn’t yell like a banshee, but it was hard just staying still, watching

you, damned hard. In fact, it was about the hardest thing I’ve

ever had to do in my blessed life.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, holding her loosely now.

His warm breath feathered over her skin. “Oh, yeah, I was married

once. It was a long time ago. Her name was Vivie. Everything was

okay for a while, then it just wasn’t. She didn’t want kids and I did.

But I’m not serious about anyone else. It’s just you, Becca. Just you.”

“That’s nice,” she said and yawned against his shoulder. Then she

bit his neck, then kissed where she’d bitten him. “I wish you were

naked.” To his immense credit, he didn’t do anything other than

shake a bit. “This is very close, Becca. My fingers are actually itching

they want to touch you so much. But this is your father’s

house. We can’t. Hey, how would you like to go out in the backyard,

maybe we could take a couple of blankets?”

“Out from under the parental roof?”

“That’s it. Oh yeah, for sure we could wave to the FBI agents

that are scattered around.” He sighed deeply, kissed her ear, and

sighed again. “My molecules are even horny.”

Becca sighed and rested her hand on his chest. His heart was

pounding hard and fast beneath her palm. She arched up and kissed

his throat, then eased back in the circle of his arms. “Not fair at all.

I mean, the shirt you’re wearing is nice but I would love to kiss

your chest, maybe even run my hands down over your belly.”

He shuddered, drew quickly away from her, and rose. “I’ve been

feeling your breasts against me and it’s driving me nuts. Now, since

we can’t be wicked the way I would like, I’ve got to get out of here.

I just can’t take any more. I’d like to try but I know it wouldn’t

work. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning. I might be a bit

late. I’ve got to go home and do some stuff.” And he was gone. Her

bedroom door closed very quietly behind him.

She sat there on her bed, hugging her knees. So suddenly her

life had changed. And in all this nightmare, she’d found herself a

man she hadn’t believed could even exist. His first wife, Vivie, had

had peas for brains. She hoped that Vivie–silly name–lived as far

away as Saint Petersburg, Russia. It was a good enough distance

away.

Soon enough, of course, Krimakov intruded. She wanted to

shoot him, just point a gun at his chest and fire. She wanted him

gone, into oblivion, so he couldn’t ever hurt anyone again.

The next day, at precisely noon, when Governor Bledsoe of

New York -was walking his dog, Jabbers, in his protected garden, a

sniper shooting from a distance of at least fifteen hundred feet

nailed his dog right through the folds of his neck. Jabbers was

rushed to the vet and it looked like he would survive, just like his

master had.

Thomas turned slowly to his daughter, the two of them alone in

the house. “This is over the top. It’s just too much. Damnation, he

shot the dog in the neck. Unbelievable. At least the sick bastard

isn’t here.”

“But why did he do it?” Becca said. “Why?”

“To laugh at us,” Thomas said. “To make this big joke. He wants

us to know just how invincible he is, how he can do anything he

wants to and get away with it. How he’s here and then he’s there,

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