“Your move,” he said.
She wet her suddenly dry lips and watched his gaze dip down to take in the movement. “I…don’t have a move.”
He stared at her, his tension making him look pretty damn scary. If he hadn’t taken such good care of her, she’d be shaking in her boots because he now appeared incredibly intimidating. But he had taken care of her. He’d done everything he could to keep her safe, and also…he’d kissed her. “I can’t find…what I’m looking for.”
“Bailey-”
But just then, from the other room, the front door opened with a shockingly loud click.
Hell, Noah thought. More trouble. Why was he not surprised?
Bailey was shaking, and not just a few little tremors, but full body shudders that were knocking her pretty teeth together. He ran a hand down her arm, which felt way too cold through her sweater and made him frown. Yeah, she was soft in his grip, her hips nicely curved, her breasts mashing into his side, the sweet scent of her skin teasing his nostrils, but it also appeared she might be in shock. Not good. “Don’t move,” he said in her ear. “I’ll be right back.”
She clutched at him. “No-” But then she purposely clamped her lips shut and shook her head, her hair flying into his face, the silky strands clinging to his jaw. “Nothing.”
Nothing, his ass. She was holding on by a string, and desperately trying to be strong while doing it. Good. They were going to need her strength and all of their wits put together to get out of this, and he still had no idea what “this” even was. Noah squeezed her arm gently, trying to signify that he really would be right back. She nodded, but didn’t let go. He stroked a finger over hers, which were currently embedded in his shirt.
“Right,” she whispered, but it was another second before she let go.
He told himself this was her own doing and shifted silently to the double kitchen doors. What they needed was time, but that wasn’t going to happen.
The handles were western style brass pulls. Pretentious, not to mention ugly as hell, but perfect for slipping the knife through and barricading the door closed. It wouldn’t hold against brute force, but it would gain them the few seconds they needed.
Hopefully.
Because for whatever reason, gorgeous Mrs. Sinclair had four extremely goon-sized knee-cap breakers on her tail, and while they weren’t exactly fast on their feet, they were as persistent as bulldogs.
Two of them were downstairs watching the exits. The other two had made their way out of the elevator and were now inside the penthouse. Armed to the teeth.
Apparently Bailey’s “something” was something extremely valuable, and he’d bank on the fact that it involved money. Bags of it.
That Bailey wanted it so badly bothered him.
Distance, he reminded himself. You need distance. Like miles and miles of it…
Okay, things were far too tight in here for him to risk leaving her. Backing to the cabinets, he pulled her to his side and once again put his mouth to her ear. “Another exit?”
“Patio deck,” she breathed. “But-”
They didn’t have time for buts, and he dragged her out of the kitchen, wincing at the sound of her heels click, click, clicking across the fancy tiles. He was all for a woman’s high-heeled fuck-me boots, especially hers because they made him hot. Probably, she could wear steel-toed work boots and he’d get hot, because the truth was, it was Bailey herself that did him in. She could just stand there and breathe and he’d react, but his point was that he wished she’d been wearing running shoes.
Hell, he wished she wasn’t here at all, but instead safe on the Learjet heading to Aspen. That was what he wanted-her far away from all this shit.
They got through the kitchen just as someone tried to get in the double doors. From the other side, a radio squawked. Then a voice softly said, “Get your ass up here, we’ve got ’em.”
Not yet, you don’t, Noah thought grimly, relieved about one thing. If the two men from downstairs were being called up, that meant there was no one watching the perimeters of the building.
That would work in their favor.
“Den,” Bailey whispered, sounding as if she was hyperventilating.
In the den he spotted the reflection from double French doors that probably cost more than he’d made last year. He headed for them, hoping like hell there was some sort of fire escape plan.
From behind them, the kitchen doors splintered open, and Bailey gasped.
Don’t fall apart on me now, he thought, and pulled her along. She pushed ahead of him and shoved open the French doors. There were a few inches of snow on the covered deck, only what had been able to blow in sideways, but the sharp slap of icy air sucked the air from his lungs.
“Hurry,” she said.
That was his line, but he moved out after her and carefully shut the doors behind them, pushing her out of the line of sight from inside.
There wasn’t much to see in the pitch-black night. No moon, no stars…just a storm moving in.
Yeah, that was just icing on his big fat cake tonight. But there was, hallelujah, a fire escape, which consisted of a narrow ladder from each deck to the one below. “Down we go,” he told her.
She stared at him blankly.
“Down the fire escape.”
“Down the fire escape.” She looked over and gulped. “As in down the fire escape?”
He pulled her toward it. “There’s no way around this one, Princess.” He manhandled her to the edge and physically lifted her leg over.
As she caught a glimpse of the ground far, far below, she froze. “Ohmigod.”
“Don’t look down.”
“My boots-they’re high-heeled. Noah, I’m going to slip and fall.”
Holy hell. The fuck-me boots. Were they going to catch absolutely no breaks tonight? “Yeah, okay. Move over.”
“I can’t-”
Not waiting for her, he swung his own leg over, which left him pretty much straddling the princess ninety feet above the ground. Still not enough to make him forget that she had a soft, sweet body that fit perfectly to his. Ignoring that, he slid down that soft, sweet body, his cheek rubbing up against all sorts of interesting parts that flipped his senses into overdrive, until his feet were several rungs below hers on the ladder.
This left his face right about tight, amazing ass level. Okay, he hadn’t thought this through. His jaw brushed one denim-clad cheek, and for just a second, he closed his eyes.
He wanted to nibble. They were ninety feet above the fucking ground and he wanted to eat her right up. Yeah, Shayne and Brody had definitely been correct-going six months without having sex with anyone other than his own fist had been a colossally bad idea.
He needed to get laid in the worst possible way.
“I’m scared,” she gasped, and executed a careful turn so that she faced him.
Perfect. Now her crotch was right in his face. Not exactly a problem, except he was having a little trouble concentrating.
“You can’t fall now,” he said, feeling like a perv, telling himself to keep breathing, not to go nuts now. “I’m just below you. I’ll catch you.” He helped her turn back around, which of course involved lots of touching. Now his face was once again two inches from her ass, and his mouth was watering. “Start going down with me.”
Or on me…
Still breathing as if maybe she’d already climbed this building, she nodded. “Just go down with you,” she repeated.
Christ, the words sure did conjure up an image. He shifted down a few rungs so that, thankfully, his mouth came level with the backs of her knees. Nothing sexy about the backs of anyone’s knees.
Nope, not a damn thing.
But then she did as he’d asked, she followed, so that she shifted right back into the circle of his arms, and once again he was staring at her most perfectly delectable ass. Closing his eyes would be a bad thing, he reminded himself, and stoically, he kept his gaze on her as they crawled down.
