Off the Grid Read online

  She’d never seen him so riled up; it was a little unnerving.

  Without her realizing it, he’d pushed her back against the car. “What the fuck were you thinking, Brittany?”

  Two fucks in two sentences. Definitely not good.

  Her heart was fluttering a little fast, but she forced an even tone to her voice. “I was thinking that since you weren’t going to tell me anything, I would have to find out what happened on my own. But that guy who attacked me didn’t have anything to do with you or my stories.”

  Oops. He didn’t seem to like that. His face turned really tight and angry. The hang-loose surfer looked like a mean, black-hearted, pillaging Viking.

  “Are you out of your sweet, ever-loving mind? I don’t know what the hell you’ve been smoking lately, sweetheart”—Sweetheart? She’d never heard an endearment from him before—“but why else do you think he was trying to kill you? This is Norway; they don’t do violent crime here.”

  “He was trying to take my bag.”

  John was leaning in so close now, she could practically feel the anger reverberating from his tensed muscles. There was rather an impressive lot of them to tense, and her skin prickled in an all-over flush. Unfortunately, it wasn’t with fear. It was with something else. Something that was making her blood race, her breath quicken, and really stupid parts of her body tingle.

  How could she be turned on at a time like this?

  “That guy wasn’t a purse snatch. He was a professional. Didn’t you see him?”

  “Not really.” She just had a vague impression. Tall, strong, shadowed features. A smell of . . . aftershave? Soap? She couldn’t put her finger on it. But he’d been clean-shaven. Otherwise, with the rain, darkness, and hoods, the two men would have been eerily similar.

  She frowned. But that didn’t mean he was a professional. John was just trying to scare her. Which he didn’t need to do. She was scared enough.

  “Well, I did,” John said. “And that guy was trained. He sensed my approach and blocked my blow too easily. I was lucky to get the gun away from him.” Brittany hadn’t seen any of it; she’d had her face pressed against the pavement. “He would have snapped your neck with one twist if I’d been a second later. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I got here when I did? If the guy you picked up in the bar tonight had taken any longer to persuade you to go home, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  This was a conversation? It seemed rather one-sided to her.

  She’d never heard him raise his voice to anyone like this before. And from the way his hands were clenching and reclenching at his sides, she got the definite sense that he was trying to decide whether to shake her or ravish her senseless.

  Emphasis on the senseless.

  She shuddered, the unwelcome tingling turning to full-fledged clenching. With the length of his powerful body leaning against hers like this, it was too easy to remember how it had felt to have him inside her. Sinking into her with those long, deep thrusts that had possessed her entire body.

  She wasn’t going to do this. She didn’t know whether it was what had just happened, what he was saying, or the desire that was crashing over her, but she suddenly felt overwhelmed, upset, and maybe a little vulnerable.

  And she didn’t like it. She pushed him back with the flat of her hand on that steely chest. “Stop bullying me, Johnny! I know you are mad that I didn’t do your bidding after you went to such great efforts to see that I did, but I’m not twenty-two anymore. I’m not going to put this aside just because we slept together. And you had no right to get rid of Nils whether I picked him up or not!”

  She was really stepping in it with him tonight. His eyes turned black. “Don’t push me right now, Brittany. You might not like what happens.”

  She shivered, fearing she’d like it a lot. What kind of warped person was she to get excited by all this raw, masculine anger? She must be going off the deep end.

  “You were the one who told me I needed proof,” she said. “Well, I’m getting it.”

  “How? By picking up guys in bars for information and acting like a frog hog?”

  If Brittany weren’t so furious, she would have laughed. How dared he accuse her of being a slut when he was the one who was indiscriminate in bed partners?

  “You have got to be kidding me. This from you? One of the biggest players I’ve ever met? The guy who slept with two women in one night to prove a point? Thanks, Johnny, but I think I’ll take my dating advice from someone else.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “That wasn’t a date,” John said. “That was you pumping some poor kid for information. Just how far were you going to go to get it, Brit?”

  John knew he was being an ass, and although he wasn’t the player she thought him, he’d had his share of hookups. Okay, maybe a few more than his share, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from lashing out.

  He was angry, and worse—scared. He couldn’t get that image of her in that guy’s hold out of his head.

  He’d almost been too late. He’d been so pissed by what he’d witnessed in the bar—and that she was leaving with the young soldier—that he’d finished his beer rather than follow them out right away. And then he’d taken time to get rid of “Nils” first.

  Previously-unknown-to-exist jealousy had nearly gotten her killed. It made him sick just thinking about it.

  Brittany gasped with outrage at his accusation. She gave him a look that could kill. “It’s none of your damned business how far I would go!”

  That wasn’t exactly what he’d expected her to say. “You aren’t going to deny it?”

  She lifted her chin—which was too damned cute—and glared at him something fierce. “Why should I bother? Since you have obviously drawn your own conclusions, it would be a waste of time.” Those pretty blue eyes pinned him. “But I’m not sure how leaving a bar with a guy equates to sleeping with him.”

  It didn’t. Or it didn’t necessarily. But it was what had led up to it that had made him crazy. The guy had been touching her. He’d been leaning in tight and had his hands on her. John had wanted to kill something—preferably the other guy.

  “So, the flirting and sexy getup is a coincidence—is that it?” His eyes drew down the length of the low-cut blouse, skimpy shorts, and strappy fuck-me sandals, which, given that the rain was making her clothes damp and clingy, wasn’t a great idea. She looked hot, and he didn’t like it. She needed to go back to businesslike and girl-next-door. “I suppose this doesn’t have anything to do with you getting information?”

  Her flush deepened just enough to let him know he’d hit a nerve—a guilty one. Or at least a not-so-innocent one.

  “You had no right to spy on me. I knew someone was watching me. Where were you?”

  He shrugged. He hadn’t intended to spy on her. He’d walked into the crowded bar planning to drag her out of there, but when he’d seen her laughing with the guy in the booth, it had stopped him cold in his tracks. He’d felt something hard and tight in this chest. Something that made him feel as if acid were eating away at his lungs. Something he didn’t recognize.

  He’d taken a seat in the opposite corner of the bar to wait for it to go away, but it had only gotten worse. The burning started to pound through his veins. It felt like anger, but he realized it was a different kind of anger. It was jealousy. And that had taken a couple beers to deal with.

  He didn’t get jealous. At least he never had before. So why now?

  He must be getting old. That was it. Could you have a midlife crisis at twenty-nine?

  Maybe when he got home and this mess was all behind him, he’d buy a car. Pathetic old guy in a sport car was better than pathetic old guy getting jealous over some kid.

  That wasn’t her type, was it? Clean-cut, Boy Scout—or whatever the Norwegian equivalent—who probably hadn’t done anythin