A Shot at Love Read online

  “That doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

  He could read the fatigue in the small purple smudges under her eyes. They’d both been awake for over eighteen hours.

  “I’ll bunk down here and we can unpack everything and get the lay of the land in the morning.”

  “You’re gonna stay down here?”

  “Yeah.”

  She cocked her head at him. “I don’t mind if you want to be upstairs. The beds are bigger. They might be more comfortable than the twins.”

  “True, but from a defensive viewpoint, staying down here makes more sense.”

  For a moment he thought she might argue with him. There was a question in her eyes he couldn’t fathom.

  Instead, she grabbed one of the overnight bags Josh’s friend had put together for them, since they’d fled the safe house with nothing, and with a shrug, said, “’K.”

  “I’ll make sure everything is locked up and secure,” he said to her retreating back.

  “No surprise there,” she muttered as she went up the stairs.

  * * *

  She’d tried to ignore the rumbling and churning noises coming from her empty stomach for the past hour, hoping they would quiet and let her get back to sleep, but they’d hung on like a feasting leech. In fact, she was hungrier now than she thought she’d ever been before. The chips she and Ky had shoveled in during the drive had quieted her hunger for a while, but now, like a caged beast roaring for escape, it blasted through the silence in the room, demanding relief. Other than those chips, she’d had nothing to eat all day, since she’d been robbed of her breakfast by the gunmen.

  Good Lord! How much had happened in a single day. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought she’d be stuck on a mountain in the middle of nowhere, miles from civilization, rooming with an armed man sworn to protect her.

  The bedside digital clock told her it was three a.m. Too early for breakfast, but she’d never get back to sleep if she didn’t do something to squash the hunger blasting through her.

  Gemma slipped from under the covers, thankful she’d donned socks before climbing into bed because she knew the wooden floor would be cold at this time of night. The cabin was deep into the woods, more than half way up a mountainside, and even though it was summer, the night air chilled without the sun’s heat. Wearing only a thin T-shirt and boy-shorts she’d found in the suitcase, Gemma wrapped her arms around herself and went on a mission for something to ease her demanding stomach.

  Thankfully, the floors didn’t creak as she crept from the room, out to the landing, and down the stairs.

  The light under the kitchen range was on so she was able to navigate around the living room and into the kitchen without knocking into any of the furniture.

  She hadn’t unpacked the nonperishables before she’d gone to bed, knowing nothing needed refrigeration, but the counter was free now of the bags they’d brought in from the car.

  Ky must have put them away before heading to bed.

  Gemma said a silent curse because now she had to hunt through the cabinets as quietly as she could so she wouldn’t wake him. His bedroom door was cracked halfway open and any noise might disturb her sleeping special agent. Something she most definitely did not want to do.

  With care she opened one cabinet, found it empty and moved on to the next. At the third she found success. She grabbed the first thing she could reach—a box of crackers. That would get her to breakfast, for sure. She opened the refrigerator, hoping he’d put the case of bottled water they’d brought in it to chill. The fridge looked as new as the rest of the appliances, and when she pulled the door handle to open it, a loud sucking noise barked into the air.

  Gemma turned to stone, the door handle glued to her hand. She listened for a few moments, heard nothing but silence come back to her, then peeked into the fridge.

  The water bottles were aligned in perfect precision on the top shelf, the rest of the unit empty.

  She bent in and just as her hand clasped around a bottle, the silence was split by a loud, “Freeze!”

  Gemma gasped, dropped the crackers and the full water bottle, which landed with a thud on her instep, and jumped back, banging her hip against the sink’s ledge.

  “Christ on the cross!” She grabbed her foot, tears springing into her eyes as she leaned back for support, and glared across the kitchen at Ky. “Give a girl a heart attack, why don’t you?”

  Poised in a shooting stance, his Glock pointed straight at her head, all sentient thought flew from her mind the moment her gaze cleared and connected with him. Clad in black boxers—and nothing else—he simply took her breath away.

  Who knew that under the stiff, polite, and contained exterior was the body of a true Greek God? There was no other description for him.

  A chest as finely chiseled and sculpted as any carved statue she’d ever seen, every muscle was covered with perfect, smooth, and sun-kissed golden skin. His nipples were two darkened discs perfectly aligned in the center of a pair of pumped and defined pecs. He gave a whole new definition to the term “eight pack” as each groove and trench of his abdominal muscles was pulled tight where he stood, his waist slim and sleek. Thick, powerful thighs jutted down from the snug-fitting boxers into calves that were both muscular and lithe.

  There wasn’t a visible inch or ounce of extra flesh on his entire body. Every bit of skin she could see—and it was a lot!—was simply perfect. A thin gold chain hung around his neck, a small pendant dangling from it.

  He exuded strength and raw power from every pore, and in that moment, Gemma forgot about her injured foot. She felt her insides quiver while she grew, unexpectedly, wet with desire for this man.

  “What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.” He lowered his gun to his side and came toward her.

  The harsh tone in his voice had the hairs at her neck springing to attention, despite the growing moisture between her thighs just watching him walk produced.

  Dear Lord, the man really did move like a panther; sleek and silent, determined and focused.

  “Getting something to eat,” she snapped. “I’m starving. And I know what time it is, which is why I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake you.”

  Ky bent and retrieved the water and cracker box from where she’d dropped them. Her eyes raked over the corded muscles in his back—his broad, hunky, naked back. The sinewy ripple of his shoulders and arms as he placed the items on the counter next to her had her biting down on her bottom lip so the moan breaking within her would be silenced.

  He stood right in front of her; so close, in fact, she could reach out and run her tongue along his poured-from-concrete jawline. Gemma blinked hard when the notion hit her to do just that.

  Ky reached out and touched her foot. She was still holding it up, one hand around the ankle, the other kneading the spot where the bottle had thudded. He rubbed his fingers over hers. “I’m sorry I scared you. I heard a noise. Thought you were an intruder.”

  “You must have hearing like a bat.”

  A tiny grin pulled at one corner of his mouth. “I’m a light sleeper. Consequence of the job.”

  He hadn’t stopped rubbing her foot and the rhythm from his soft touch was hypnotic.

  And wickedly arousing.

  “Does it hurt?”

  She shook her head. “Not so much anymore.”

  Ky removed his hand and took a step back. He glanced over at the cracker box and asked, “Want something more substantial than just those?”

  Gemma cocked her head. “Like you just told me, it’s the middle of the night. I wasn’t planning on anything more substantial. Just something to tide me over until breakfast.”

  “Yeah, but you’re hungry, so it really doesn’t matter what time it is. Neither one of us ate anything of significance yesterday. Want me to fix something?” He set the safety on the
gun, placed it down on the counter, then turned on the overhead light from the wall switch. The sudden harsh light had her squinting.

  He opened the pantry door. “We’ve got some essentials. There’s bread, a jar of peanut butter and some jam. Looks homemade. Want a sandwich?”

  “Homemade? Let me see.”

  He handed her the jar and her stomach growled when she recognized the label.

  Ky’s low laugh was fast and sounded, God help her, panty-dropping sexy. “You really are hungry.”

  “I wouldn’t be sneaking around at this hour if I wasn’t.”

  Ky reached into a cabinet and pulled down two plates. The light from the overhead fixture silhouetted his body, shadowing all the contours and outlines of his muscle groups.

  Gemma swallowed and moved her gaze back to the jar. “This is Kandy’s jam, from Grandma’s old canning recipe. She makes it every year and gives it out as presents to family and friends.”

  “So, I’m assuming that’s a yes for the sandwich.” He found the utensils drawer and grabbed a knife.

  Gemma blinked, watching him.

  How surreal was this? Standing in a strange kitchen in the middle of the night with a man clad in nothing but silk boxers, looking like a visiting God from Olympus, discussing a sandwich?

  Gemma shook her head, wondering when she’d wake up from this dream. When she caught a glance at the way the muscles in Ky’s arm undulated as he spread the strawberry jam on the bread, she hoped she’d get to sleep a little longer.

  “Can you grab me a water?” he asked as he picked up their plates and walked over to the breakfast bar.

  Seated across from him a moment later, Gemma stared at the chain dropping down almost to his pecs. “What’s the pendant?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

  “St. Michael the Archangel. Patron saint of law enforcement officers. My baby sister, Ariadne, gave it to me for my birthday a few years ago.”

  “The Diet Mountain Dew girl?”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t know why, but I didn’t think you were Catholic.” She dug into her sandwich and tried not to devour it in one breath.

  “I’m not. My whole family is Greek Orthodox, but Dini’s the most superstitious of us all so when saw the pendant online she thought it might help keep me safe.”

  “Dini?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted again and his eyes softened. “Family nickname.”

  “Like Papps?”

  His left eyebrow quirked. He took a bite of his sandwich and Gemma had an uncontrollable urge to press her thighs together when his neck bobbled as he swallowed.

  “My family doesn’t call me that, only my coworkers do. Pappandreos is a mouthful for some people.” When he nailed her with a look that was equal parts mocking and hot, Gemma squirmed, remembering how difficult she’d found his name at first.

  “She doesn’t like that you’re an FBI agent?”

  “More that she worries. A lot. All the women in my family are worriers.” He shook his head, his lips tugging into a half-grin. “She thinks if I wear the medal I’ll be protected because it has a built in tracking device. I didn’t tell her I’ve never turned it on, but,”—he lifted a shoulder—“if it helps calm her worries, it’s no big deal to wear it.”

  “That’s actually pretty sweet.”

  “Dini’s a sweet girl.”

  She wanted to tell him she meant he was being sweet, not his sister, but before she could, he cut her off.

  “I did a larger scale sweep before turning in,” he told her. “Your friend Bannerman’s got a top-notch security system in the back of the pantry. Took me a few minutes to figure it out.”

  “Rick’s the most tech savvy guy I’ve ever met. Even Josh is surprised by some of the stuff he brings to the table. And Josh is no techy-slouch in his own right.”

  “It not only looks like the house is alarmed, but I think the surrounding property is as well. I’ll get a better, more in depth look at it in the morning, but we should be okay here for a few days at least. In the morning I’ll also try and make contact with my superior.”

  “Find out how Jon’s doing, if you do. If he’s okay.”

  Ky stared at her for a moment. She was a little aggravated she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

  “As soon as I know anything, I’ll tell you.”

  It was amazing how swiftly he could go from being and sounding calm and nice, back to stern and hard.

  “Your sister cans this jam?” he asked, changing the subject, and then took a pull from his water bottle.

  Gemma nodded, confused at the topic switch. “Every year since she was nineteen and inherited grandma’s recipes.”

  “I think this is the best strawberry jam I’ve ever had.”

  Gemma chuckled. “No lie. And you’re not the only one. In the beginning she only gave it out to family. Once word spread, she increased it to friends and then friends of friends when they begged for it. Everyone keeps telling her she should market it commercially, but she won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “Kandy’s very faithful to our grandmother’s memory. Some recipes she just doesn’t want the whole world to have access to. Keeping them private makes it seem like Grandma’s still with us, cooking only for us and no one else.”

  She polished off her sandwich, silently wished she had another and then licked the jam that had seeped out from the bread and onto her fingers.

  Ky’s swift inhale had her gaze whipping across the table. Nothing had changed in his outward demeanor. He sat, leaning back in his chair, his body relaxed, yet she felt he was anything but. It was his eyes. The green and blue flecks swirling in them had melded into one solid ball of deep and vibrant seafoam, mirroring the color at the bottom of the ocean. They were trained, unblinking, on her mouth. So intense was his stare, Gemma stopped, one of her fingers frozen in place between her lips.

  The overwhelming sensation of being trapped and unable to move shot through her.

  He lifted his gaze to her eyes and her heart quite simply stopped.

  A well of sexual heat so deep it seemed bottomless, stared back at her. Want, desire, lust and—God save her—need, poured from him.

  In the next instant he blinked, that blank wall of ice she was getting used to seeing, back in place as if she’d only imagined the scorching heat of a moment before.

  But she hadn’t.

  That longing had been as real and as potent as the dangerous situation she currently found herself surrounded by. Where she was terrified of one, the other, she was surprised to admit, she’d welcome. If he so much as leaned in toward her, gave her any indication the hunger she’d seen in his eyes was real and needed to be slaked, Gemma would have crawled onto his lap and cleaved herself to his body without another word.

  But she knew in the light of the morning she’d be filled with regrets.

  Kyros Pappandreos, all six foot plus and dangerously handsome, was the type of man Gemma was drawn to because of his looks, but the kind of guy she’d made a lifetime habit of avoiding. He was a man she knew instinctively would claim her body and demand her heart and there was no way Gemma was going to ever give her heart away. She would never put herself in a position of actually caring enough for any man that her heart would get involved.

  Ky struck her as the type of man who’d want a woman to be all in: mind, body, heart, and soul. Total intimacy, shared thoughts and feelings, a true couple in every sense of the word. He didn’t strike her as player, like his partner Jon did, and she knew down to her toes he wasn’t. A woman who found herself involved with him would have to be willing to forego part of herself for the sake of true intimacy.

  Gemma had dated a fair share of men since she’d grown out of the naiveté of her teens but had never been truly emotionally vested in any of them. Sex was one
thing. Affection was quite another.

  It dawned on her as Ky’s gaze zeroed in on her mouth that, sitting across the table from him in the dead of night, barely clothed, and eating a simple sandwich while they talked was the most intimate thing she’d ever done with a man that didn’t involve sex.

  Her initial impression of him as an arrogant and self-important jerk had subtly begun to shift over the course of the days they were forced to be together. Yes, he was single-minded and stiffly superior at times, but the realization he presented that face to the world in order to meet the demands of his job was starting to change her opinion of who he really was. A man who, if she let him in, had the ability to destroy her.

  Gemma pushed back from the table and lifted her plate. She needed to stop thinking about him as if he were a potential bed-mate. He wasn’t. He was her protector and nothing more. Lusting over his body would get her nowhere, fast.

  “I’m making another one?” she asked. “You want?”

  He nodded and took a sip from his bottle.

  While she fixed the sandwiches, she gave into more of her curiosity. “Tell me about Theo.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  She set his plate before him and shrugged. “He’s been your friend forever?”

  “Since we were little kids. His family lived next door to mine. His parents still do.”

  “He seems a little…eccentric.”

  Ky nodded. “As good a word as any, I guess.” He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, then swallowed.

  Across from him Gemma pressed her thighs together and squirmed in her seat as she watched his throat work. The overwhelming desire to stretch across the table and lick his neck barreled through her again like a speeding bullet.

  “Theo’s a genius,” Ky said. “A real one. His IQ’s been tested as off the charts. He went to MIT at fifteen, had three doctorates—math, physics, and computer science—before he hit twenty-five.”

  Gemma’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Wow.”