Street Game Read Free Page B

He leaned close. “Did you find yourself, Jaimie? Did you find everything you were looking for?” Did you miss me the way I missed you? Did you bring my heart back, because I have a damn big hole where it should be.
    He stared down into her eyes—eyes he’d always fall into, eyes he’d always drown in. Damn you, Jaimie. Damn you to hell for this. The attraction was worse than it had ever been, flooding him until his body was no longer his and discipline and control had gone out the window.
    “Don’t you dare look at me that way.”
    She swallowed hard. He felt the movement against the palm of his hand. “What way?”
    “Like you’re afraid of me. Like I’m going to hurt you.” There was panic in her eyes, fear almost amounting to terror, and it sickened him.
    “Mack.” Kane’s voice was very soft. “You’ve got your hand around her throat and you’re sitting on her. That could be interpreted by some as an aggressive action.”
    Mack hissed, his head snapping around. “Anyone else have anything brilliant they want to contribute?”
    No one else was that stupid—or brave.
    He loosened his hold on her throat but retained possession, feeling the satisfyingly frantic beat of her pulse in the center of his palm. “What the hell are you wearing?” he demanded again. “You might as well be wearing nothing at all.”
    “It’s called a nightgown,” Jaimie replied, her voice sarcastic. “Mack, let me up. In case no one’s ever told you, you’re heavy.”
    He was solid muscle. And right now every single inch of him was as hard as a rock. Moving was going to be painful, one way or another.
    Sighing, because everyone was going to know exactly what she did to him, he shifted very carefully. “Get some clothes on.” Abruptly, Mack was on his feet, pulling her up with him. A quick flick of his eyes and his men found the ceiling interesting.
    They were grinning like idiots. All of them. Even Kane. Mack resisted swearing at them.
    “Have the decency to turn around,” he ordered the others.
    Morons. Every single one. He didn’t turn around. He glared at her. Daggers. “That’s a hell of a thing to wear unless you’re entertaining, Jaimie. Are you entertaining?” His hand slid down to the satisfying hilt of his knife. He’d do some entertaining of his own if some son of a bitch was moving in on Jaimie. Not waiting for an answer, he tore off his jacket and threw it at her. “Cover up.”
    “Go to hell, Mack. This is my home. My bedroom, in case you haven’t noticed.”
    Still, she slipped her arms into the jacket and inhaled, rubbing her cheek along the material without thinking, and then stalked across the room to yank open a drawer. “You’re a long way from home.” Jaimie made the observation as she donned a pair of charcoal sweatpants. “Not to mention you’re a little overdressed for these parts.”
    He noticed her hands were trembling as she pulled the edges of his jacket together. Her voice was exactly as he remembered. Soft, husky, beautiful. Like clear running water. It hurt him to look at her. Her chin was in the air—the same defiant Jaimie he’d known forever. But she wasn’t looking at him, not directly, and that wasn’t like Jaimie.
    “The next time you want to drop in, local custom demands that you do me the courtesy of knocking.” She paced away from him, back again, unable to rid her body of the adrenaline. “What are you doing here, Mack?”
    “We followed a shipment of weapons.”
    Her eyebrows shot up. “To San Francisco? To my home?”
    “Right to your front door, baby.”
    She winced. “I’m not your baby, Mack. That was a long time ago. What are you really doing here?”
    “Our information . . .”
    “Mack, come on.” She crossed to the window and looked out over the pounding waves. “You and I both know this is too big of a coincidence. If you weren’t the one to arrange it, then your informer wanted you here. Wanted us together.”
    He wanted them together, so