Forever Kisses Volume 1 Page 5

  He caught her chin and brought her eyes to meet his. “You’re a wonderful woman. Believe in yourself.”

  Jean’s mind seized Cade’s telepathic suggestion and released her doubts. A brilliant smile spread across her face. She wrapped her arms around him, cuddling close. Slowly, gently, he stroked a hand through her hair, allowing himself to savor the moment’s warmth. If he fought Ridgemont and lost, it might be the last he’d ever know.

  Finally, with a regretful sigh, he urged her into sleep. He was due at the airport -- and his duel for Valerie’s life.

  * * *

  Val watched the lights of the runway speed upward to meet the plane, fighting the nervous jitter in her stomach. She was not, dammit, rushing toward her doom. And no matter what her overactive imagination insisted, Cowboy was not waiting down there to claim and betray her.

  There is no such thing as vampires. And Cowboy’s just a dream, she told herself firmly, forcing away the image of herself writhing astride his grinding hips with his fangs sunk deep in her throat.

  * * *

  Ridgemont had not come to meet Val’s plane.

  Grim, Cade scanned airport lobby, but the ancient’s dark mental signature was nowhere in evidence. It didn’t make sense.

  Frowning, he turned and studied Bobby Mason, who leaned against the information center flirting with the pretty girl who manned it. Mason was Ridgemont’s backup driver, but according to Cade’s mental scan, he didn’t remember bringing either of the vampires with him. Of course, his memories could have been altered. Probably had been.

  Ridgemont was no fool; he had to know kidnaping Val would be Cade’s next move. And Mason damn well couldn’t stop him from doing it. Which meant this was a trap.

  Unfortunately, it seemed Cade had no choice except to walk into it.

  He stepped up behind the chauffeur and murmured in his ear, “Hey, Bobby.”

  Mason straightened and jerked around. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded, eyes widening in his square, pleasantly beefy face. He glanced back at the suddenly alert airport rep, then grabbed Cade’s elbow and dragged him off to one side. Lowering his voice, he hissed, “You know how long it took the bomb squad to disarm that thing you left in the limo?”

  Cade winced. He hadn’t thought of that. “Anybody get hurt?”

  “No, but where the hell did you get all that C-4?” His eyes flickered toward a Transit cop who was frowning at them suspiciously. Cade caught the man’s gaze and compelled him to lose interest in the conversation. The cop glanced away, and Mason relaxed, though he dropped his voice even more. “That’s military ordnance. They control that shit like nuclear material.” He used to be in the Army.

  Cade shrugged. “Took it off a nutjob white supremacist. Figured it would be put to better use killing Ridgemont than blowing up a synagogue.”

  “Do I want to know what happened to the asshole?”

  “He gave a full confession to the Feds. I think he’s awaiting trial.” Cade met the mortal’s hazel eyes. “Bobby, you need to take a walk. I’ll give Ridgemont’s guest a ride back to the house.”

  “Are you nuts?” Mason rocked back on his heels. “You left a half-pound resignation letter wired to the ignition!”

  “No, I didn’t.” He reached into the other man’s mind and gently laid the force of his will across it.

  “Oh.” The chauffeur’s face went blank as he instantly forgot about the assassination attempt. “Sure, Cade. Whatever you say.” Turning, he wandered off.

  With a sigh, Cade folded his arms and settled back against the wall to scan for Ridgemont and Hirsch. And wait, one eye on a nearby departures board.

  When he saw that Val’s flight had arrived, he straightened and moved toward the escalator she’d descend once she arrived.

  His gut knotted. This could get nasty.

  Chances were good she’d recognize him, either as Cowboy or the vampire who’d almost killed her seventeen years before. Of course, he’d been thin and half-starved back then, and she didn’t believe Cowboy existed, so that might buy him a little time. But eventually it would hit her who he was.

  And she wasn’t going to be happy about it.

  If she became hysterical in the airport, things would get dicey in a hurry. The latent psychic powers that made her a candidate for vampirism meant he’d be unable to influence her mind. If she started screaming, he’d have a hell of a time shutting her up before she attracted dangerous attention. Even he couldn’t control a pack of pissed-off airport cops. That many minds would be impossible to manage.

  He really needed to get lucky for once, Cade thought grimly, pulling his cap down over his eyes. Fortunately, his black chauffeur’s uniform was as far from his Texas Ranger’s jeans and Stetson as it was possible to get. Maybe that would buy him just enough time.

  Watching the down escalator, he saw a group of deplaning passengers headed his way -- families towing weary children, businesspeople draped like pack mules with laptop cases and carry-ons. As they poured past him, New York relatives met visiting family members with squeals and hugs.

  Then he spotted a familiar, long-legged figure riding the escalator, the strap of a laptop hooked over one shoulder. His throat tightened at the sweet symmetry of her face and the lush, tight curve of her breasts and hips.

  Valerie.

  She looked just as she always had in his dreams. Her face was a delicate oval set off by a pointed little chin and narrow nose, but her mouth was lush, with a hint of a wicked smile playing around its corners. She wore a summer weight cream suit that managed cool professionalism even as it hugged her long legs. A silk blouse provided discreet coverage for round, pert breasts he knew from personal experience made a delightful handful. The blouse’s mint green fabric contrasted against the dramatic tumble of auburn hair that frothed around her slim shoulders.

  Valerie. There, in the flesh. Close enough to touch.

  Cade’s knees actually went weak.

  * * *

  “Okay,” Val muttered, stepping off the escalator as she scanned the crowd for anyone who appeared to be searching for her. Mr. Ridgemont’s secretary had said she’d send a driver, though how Val was supposed to recognize him in this mob was anybody’s guess. Maybe he’d have a sign with her name on it, like they did in the movies. “So where are you?” She lifted onto her toes, wondering if he’d be wearing one of those gray chauffeur outfits. The only man she’d seen in a uniform was that handsome cop she’s spotted on the way down…

  “Valerie Chase?”

  Val turned to see a broad chest covered in black linen, met the man’s eyes, and blinked. At five-foot-nine, she didn’t have to look up at many men, especially when she was wearing heels. It’s the cop, she thought, taking in the billed black uniform hat he wore. Then she looked again and realized her mistake. It was a chauffeur’s cap, tilted down over short black hair that looked as if it would have liked to curl if not for its ruthless cut.

  “Ms. Chase, I’m Cade McKinnon,” the man said, extending a big, gloved hand in greeting. “I’m Mr. Ridgemont’s driver. He sent me to pick you up.”

  His face was long and angular, with broad, jutting cheekbones, a deeply cleft chin, and a narrow nose. Despite those aggressively stern features, his mouth was intensely sensuous, with the kind of generous, mobile lips that could kiss and charm with equal skill.

  Val shook off her reaction to his sculpted male beauty and opened her mouth to attempt a professional greeting. Just as she met his eyes.

  Framed by thick lashes under black brows, his irises were a rich, dark chocolate. God, she thought, forgetting what she was about to say, he’s got the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen… Entranced, she looked deeper.

  Suffering. Ruthless determination. And hunger -- devouring, threatening, somehow erotic.

  She froze. It was Cowboy.

  Chapter Four

  It is not! she told herself firmly, trying to shake off the wild impression. Yet the jangle of her instincts refused to quie
t. Unnerved, she took a step back so fast her ankle turned under her.

  Before Val could fall, McKinnon caught her elbow as his dark gaze lit with warm concern. “Hey, are you all right?”

  God, he even sounded like Cowboy.

  Shaken, she peered up into his face. His eyes were just eyes now -- kind and ordinary. I imagined that, she told herself firmly. He was not Cowboy -- Cowboy didn’t exist. And she certainly hadn’t touched the man’s mind and found something alien. “Rough flight,” she said aloud, as much to herself as him.

  “Do you need to sit down?” He caught her other hand as though afraid she’d keel over. The black leather gloves he wore felt warm against her skin. He moved closer, and for a moment his heat and strength sizzled all up and down her body. Her nipples peaked.

  She blushed hotly. “I’m fine.” Shaking back her hair, Val straightened and pulled free of his light grip.

  McKinnon studied her, frowning. “You sure about that? You look a little pale.”

  “Like I said, rough flight.”

  “Then let’s get you somewhere you can rest.” He smiled, his teeth dazzling, white -- and perfectly ordinary.

  “Sounds good.” She grimaced at herself, realizing she’d half expected fangs.

  McKinnon neatly hooked her laptop bag off her shoulder and onto his own. “We’d better head to the baggage carousel for the rest of your luggage. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

  Val nodded, trying to ignore the flicker of unease that slid through her at the thought of being alone in a car with him. He was not, damn it, Cowboy. It was just that he had dark hair, and any dark-haired man would remind her of her demon lover right now. As for that beautiful velvet voice of his… Surely Cowboy’s hadn’t been that deep, that resonant.

  Unconsciously, her eyes scanned down his tall, well-built body. Muscle rippled up and down his broad back, flexing in the tight hemispheres of his ass with every thrust… She felt her face blaze in a blush.

  Okay, so he was built like Cowboy. Maybe. Or maybe the shoulders of his black uniform jacket were padded.

  Not judging by the strength in those hands.

  “Baggage pickup is this way,” McKinnon said, in the sort of low male rumble that could spin seduction around even the most casual comments. He turned toward the carousel a short distance away, and Val followed, trying to convince her overactive imagination to settle down.

  Despite her jumpy nerves, some feminine instinct purred approval of his long-legged stride and the easy swing of those powerful shoulders. He was just so damn big. She’d always had a weakness for big men.

  Unable to resist another glance at the muscled length of his legs, she saw that his trousers were tucked into shining black boots that clicked as he walked. It occurred to her that there was something deliberately flamboyant about the chauffeur’s uniform he wore -- the black tunic with its gold buttons, the leather gloves, the riding boots when she’d bet money he never went anywhere near a horse. He looked like something out of ‘40s film noir, as if Lauren Bacall were waiting in the car wrapped in mink. It made her wonder about the kind of employer who’d choose such a rig for his driver in the twenty-first century.

  Yet somehow McKinnon managed to carry the costume off. He was one of those rare men who could project masculine charisma dressed in a clown suit. Val grinned, imagining a parade of women trailing hopefully behind a pair of big, floppy shoes.

  McKinnon reached the baggage carousel and gave her a smile as she joined him. Yet his eyes weren’t directed at her, or even down at the luggage circling on the belt. Instead, he scanned the surrounding crowd, his gaze flicking warily from face to face as he held himself with a martial artist’s loose-limbed readiness.

  If that man is just a chauffeur, I’ll eat my laptop, Val thought suddenly. He’s a bodyguard.

  The suit jacket of that black uniform was too well-cut to bulge, but she’d bet money he wore a shoulder holster under it when he wasn’t picking somebody up at an airport.

  What’s more, she sensed he actively expected trouble. Was it just professional paranoia, or did he really expect someone to attack them here?

  Val felt her own tension ease. The sense of danger she felt must be an unconscious reaction to his wariness. It had nothing to do with her vampire nightmare after all.

  But what kind of enemies did Edward Ridgemont have, anyway?

  * * *

  Where the hell were Ridgemont and Hirsch?

  Logically, Cade knew he could expect to find his sire waiting in the dark outside the airport terminal, ready to kick his ass again. Except he hadn’t picked up even a ghost of Ridgemont’s menacing psychic signature in any of his scans. The ancient wasn’t here.

  That left Hirsch, but Cade had beaten the German in every fair fight they’d ever had. Which meant this would not be a fair fight. Hirsch would ambush him. Probably with one of Ridgemont’s twelve-gauge double-barreled shotguns that could blast his head right off his shoulders. Not the kind of weapon one ordinarily carried into La Guardia, but with a vampire’s powers, anything was possible.

  And yet… Something about the idea of a shotgun ambush just didn’t feel right. Ridgemont had talked about killing him too many times, with too much anticipation. He’d want to do the job himself. Yet he wasn’t here.

  So what the hell was going on?

  * * *

  As they watched the luggage slide past on the carousel, Val let her attention slip to McKinnon’s face. Now that her overactive imagination had calmed down, she realized there was something in his brown eyes she recognized. Beautiful as they were, they were also flat with that particular resigned cynicism she knew from six years as a police-beat journalist.

  She’d bet her last notebook Cade McKinnon was an ex-cop.

  And not just any ex-cop, either. A man ended up with eyes like that by seeing life at its ugliest without being able to do a damn thing about it. And that meant homicide detective.

  “How long has it been since you left law enforcement?”

  McKinnon was scanning the crowd again. His gaze jerked to hers at the question, and she had the impression she’d startled him. Then he smiled slightly. “A very long time.”

  “N.Y.P.D.?”

  “Texas Rangers.”

  Val stiffened. Just like Cowboy. She pushed the thought away. Don’t be ridiculous. Forcing herself to sound casual, she asked, “How’d you get involved in that?”

  He shrugged. “The war was over, and I needed a job.”

  “Iraq?”

  “Yeah.” Silently, Cade cursed himself. He shouldn’t have told her about the Rangers -- he’d seen the flicker in her eyes as she associated that bit of information with Cowboy. He had to be more careful.

  Unfortunately, there was something about her that demanded honesty, no matter what common sense told him. Hell, he’d damn near admitted he was talking about the Civil War. He’d barely bitten the words back in time.

  “There,” she said suddenly, glancing past him to point at an expensive leather bag sliding by. “That one’s mine.”

  Thank you, God. He bent over and scooped it up. They really had to get out of here before Ridgemont or Hirsch showed up.

  By the time Cade grabbed her third and final bag, his skin was crawling. He led her toward the exit at a speed just short of a run, wanting only to get her as far away as possible.

  As they stepped through the building’s double doors, Cade hesitated, extending his vampire senses.

  Still no sign of Ridgemont.

  He took a deep breath, trying to pick up Hirsch’s scent, but the smell of jet fuel and gasoline overwhelmed everything else.

  “Mr. McKinnon?” Valerie looked up at him curiously.

  He gave her a phony smile. “Just trying to remember where I parked the car. And call me Cade.”

  Muscles coiling in the back of his neck, he guided Valerie along the sidewalk toward the airport parking garage. He just wished he’d been able to find a spot a little closer to the exit.


  * * *

  As they walked between the rows of parked cars, Val frowned, studying McKinnon intently.

  The strap of her laptop was hooked over his broad shoulder, and he’d tucked one suitcase under his left arm while carrying the other in his left hand. Somehow, he managed all three with such easy strength they might as well be empty cardboard boxes.

  “I’m curious,” she said. “Just who are you expecting to jump us?”

  She thought she glimpsed startled guilt in McKinnon’s eyes before his face went politely blank. “What? What are you talking about?”

  Val nodded at his free hand, held loose and empty at his side. “You look like you’re ready to draw down on somebody.”

  “Come on, Ms. Chase, you really don’t think I carried a gun into a New York airport?” He gave her that charming grin she was beginning to suspect was a con.

  “Did you?”

  “Why would I do that?

  Val lifted a brow at him. “You’re Ridgemont’s bodyguard, aren’t you?”

  He barked out a laugh. “The exact opposite, actually.”

  She grinned. “I don’t think so.” When he lifted a brow in question, she explained, “The exact opposite of a bodyguard would be an assassin, right?”

  All the humor fled his eyes as his warmly handsome face took on an executioner’s chill. “Sounds that way, doesn’t it?”

  Val felt a shiver skate her spine as she remembered her last dream of Cowboy: his eyes glowing red as he buried his fangs in his victim’s throat. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged his impressive shoulders. “Take my word for it, Edward Ridgemont does not need a bodyguard.”

  Her instincts began to clamor so loudly, she was tempted to tell him she’d catch a cab. Somehow, she didn’t want to see his reaction to that idea.

  What the hell is going on?

  They took an elevator up to the third level and got out. Skin crawling, she scanned the garage, lit by the harsh overhead lighting that cast pools of deep shadow. He led her between the rows of cars until he finally pointed an electronic key fob at a black Lexus. The trunk lid popped open obediently, and he began stowing her luggage inside with that same quick, effortless strength she’d noticed before. There were more suitcases in there than just her own, and Val wondered if Ridgemont habitually kept his luggage packed in case he was called out of town.