Part 3 (1/2)
”What towel-- Oh my G.o.d,” Becki said, wrenching herself out of his arms and throwing the blankets at him all in the same fluid motion. ”Stay right there, I'll get you some clothes.”
As she hurried away, his gaze lingered on the strip of skin left bare by a tank top that ended just below her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and short-shorts that would be illegal in most countries. As he watched, she stopped, wrinkled her brow, and scratched her head as if puzzled. Suddenly she spun around and stalked back across the room, not stopping until she was directly in front of him.
Tilting her head to one side and squinting up at him, she got directly to the point. ”What did you say you were doing in my house again, naked?” she asked.
Becki wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent of her favorite shaving cream. She leaned closer to him, and sniffed. ”Did you use my twenty five dollar can of shaving gel?” she said incredulously, poking him hard with a finger in the center of his chest.
Royce raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, ”If you will get me something to wear, I'll explain,” he negotiated.
She looked at him as if he had three heads, folded her arms, and began taping her foot; clearly indicating that she was not going anywhere.
”I'm a friend of Ryker's--” he began.
”Ryker? My landlord Ryker?”
”Yes,” he confirmed, ”we've been friends for years. I'm going to be in town for a couple of weeks and I usually stay here when I'm in the area.”
His stomach clinched as he lied to her, but there was no other explanation he could offer, at least not an explanation that was reasonable.
”Well you are not staying here this time. It's occupied,” she said with a glare.
”So noted; I'm sorry I frightened you,” he apologized, then offered a bribe, ”I'll buy you a new can of shaving cream if you find some clothes for me.”
She narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. However, she had stopped tapping her foot which Royce decided to view as progress.
”Two cans,” he quickly upped the ante. ”Two cans of shaving cream for a s.h.i.+rt and pair of shorts,” he bargained flas.h.i.+ng his dimples.
”Deal,” she agreed, before turning to rush from the room. She had better find those clothes...quickly. When he flashed that smile, her first impulse had been to tackle him to the floor and have her wicked way with him.
He fleetingly wished he could spend some time with her, get to know her a little better (maybe even a lot better). You might as well stop right there buddy. Royce shook his head at the foolishness of wis.h.i.+ng. Time was one thing he did not have. The mission was already two years behind schedule, so there was literally no more time to spare. He had a job to do, a team to lead, and a coin to find. He also needed to figure out the Witches' agenda; they always had an agenda. He didn't know what they were up to, or why they were meddling in the recovery operation, but he was d.a.m.n sure going to find out. Glancing at his watch, he wondered what the h.e.l.l could be keeping Sean.
Becki moved quickly from her bedroom, through the living room, continuing out the patio door onto her deck. She paused momentarily to fling shorts and a T s.h.i.+rt in Royce's general direction as she pa.s.sed through the living room.
Royce heard Becki re-enter the living room and looked up to see clothes sail through the air toward him.
”Thank you,” he called to the rapidly retreating figure. ”Chicken,” he murmured, chuckling to himself. It really was a shame he had to move on so quickly.
Outside, Becki paced from one end of her deck to the other and back again. Biting the nail on her index finger, she relived the last few minutes. Did she just make out with a perfect stranger? Perfect was right. Oh my.
”s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t,” she muttered rubbing her forehead. Was it too much to ask for the ground to open up and swallow her right now.
”Coffee?” Adonis asked, handing her a steaming cup with all the essentials.
Looking at the perfectly tipped swirl of whipped cream floating on the top, she asked, ”How did you...”
”The creamer and whipped cream were sitting next to each other in the fridge. I just heated the coffee that was cooling in the pot,” he said as he moved to sit in one of the chairs surrounding the patio table.
Becki sipped her coffee, and wondered if she had hit the ”man lottery”. He looked like a model sitting at the table, actually drinking her coffee. Uncle Kurt's ”Divers Do It Better” T-s.h.i.+rt had certainly never looked so fine.
She abruptly sat her coffee down on the table. ”I'll go put your clothes in the was.h.i.+ng machine,” she mumbled.
Before she could make her escape, Royce snagged her wrist. ”I already did. Now, why don't you sit down and relax with me for a few minutes.”
He softly caressed her wrist, running his thumb over the pulse-point. Standing, Royce pulled out the chair for Becki, right next to his.
Dropping into the chair next to him, she hoped he had set the was.h.i.+ng machine on speed cycle. This man positively oozed trouble. Then again, she thought with a smile tugging at her lips, a little trouble never hurt anyone.
”You are beautiful when you do that,” Royce murmured, staring intently at her lips.
Unsure how to respond to that, Becki blurted, ”Do you have a name?” Her face immediately flamed in embarra.s.sment.
”I do,” he said with a smile. ”Royce St. John,” he introduced himself, extending his hand toward her in greeting. Lifting one s.e.xy eyebrow he prompted, ”And you are?”
”Becki Stephens,” she responded, placing her hand in his.
”Nice to meet you, Becki Stephens,” Royce said as he gently closed his fingers around hers.
”Nice to meet you, Royce St. John,” Becki said softly finding it difficult to breathe.
A slight lean forward would put him close enough to steal another kiss. His brain argued it was a really bad idea. However, his body did not seem to be in agreement. He tugged gently, pulling her toward him, lowering his head ever-so-slowly. His eyes remained firmly focused on hers.
”Uh, where are you from, and what do you do?” Becki asked in a rush, pulling away at the last moment to wrap both hands firmly around her coffee mug.
Royce picked up his own coffee before answering, ”I own a home security business near Asheville.”
His stomach clinched again, protesting the lie he was forced to tell. He sat his coffee back down on the table without having taken a drink.
”Home Security” served as a cover for his team, which currently consisted of seven members, each possessing their own unique set of skills. ART (Artifact Recovery Team) had been formed by the Secret Council centuries ago, specifically to recover ”artifacts” that had either been stolen, or simply gone missing. The majority of these items could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.
The Secret Council was just that-- a secret council-- keeping even bigger secrets. They were also the keepers of potentially harmful ”artifacts”. However, with the amount of corruption and ongoing power struggles among the immortal communities, these ”artifacts” were proving difficult to keep under wraps.
Royce's team had been charged with recovering a collection of coins. The collection had been spelled by Merlin centuries ago. Each coin had been created for a specific purpose. If used improperly or by the wrong people, the world as we know it could altered. The coins had fallen into circulation upon the gruesome demise of the original thief, a rogue warlock who had originally been a trusted advisor to Merlin.
”Home security,” Becki repeated, the proverbial light-bulb turning on. ”That's how you know Ryker. I knew he was in some sort of security business.”
”Yes, Ryker and I have known each other most of our lives,” Royce confirmed. ”Like I said, I didn't realize the house was occupied. I'm sorry I barged in on you.”
”I fell in love with this place the first time I drove by it. My Uncle Kurt knew Ryker's dad, so he hooked me up. Ryker said he only used this place as a beach-vacation house, and that since he was going to be gone for a while, it would help him out if I just stayed here.”
”I'll bet he did,” Royce responded drearily.
Becki laughed, understanding what he failed to put into words. Ryker was quite a ladies' man. s.e.xy as h.e.l.l, and he knew it.
”Becki!” Kurt yelled as he ran around the corner of her house.
She jumped out of her chair and rushed toward him. His face was red, he was breathing hard, and he was ringing wet. He looked ready to collapse. Oh my G.o.d, was he having a heart attack?
”Royce!” Becki screamed. ”Call 911. Something is wrong!”
Seeing that she was about to panic, Kurt shook his head and held one finger in the air signaling her to give him a minute. He was bent over at the waist resting his hands on his thighs, while attempting to draw gulps of precious air into his oxygen starved lungs. Ok, so he wasn't in as great of shape as he had thought he was. That five mile sprint had been a b.i.t.c.h. Kurt had run three miles before flagging down a pa.s.sing motorist. The sweet elderly woman had just dropped him off about two miles north of Becki's house.