Ghostwalker 08 - Street Game

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followed Jaimie across the carpeted floor to the bedroom wall. “Who’s she entertaining with beer?” he demanded. “Let’s get some answers here.”
    “Stop harping.” Jaimie curled up on the bed, watching him stow the gear in the corner.
    “It isn’t harping if I don’t get an answer.” Mack stood right in front of her, his dark, gleaming eyes on her face as he began to unbutton his shirt.
    Jaimie couldn’t tear her gaze away from his hair-roughened chest, the hard, defined muscles, his flat six-pack belly. She swallowed hard as his hands went to the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t you dare take your clothes off in my bedroom, Mack.”
    He flashed a taunting grin. “You don’t have an over-abundance of walls, little darlin’. Where exactly am I supposed to get undressed?”
    “Well, not right here, for heaven’s sake.” Her long lashes fluttered in shock. “The bathroom would be much more appropriate.”
    Kane found a deep, comfortable armchair and sat down with a second beer and a sandwich. “Get away from that innocent little thing, you oversexed lout,” he said mildly.
    “Tell her to answer the question.” Mack didn’t take his glinting black gaze from her startling blue one as he dared her.
    “I did answer your question. Go ahead and change in the bathroom.” Jaimie’s chin lifted belligerently.
    “The other question, the important question. Who’s the beer for, Jaimie?”
    Her fist thumped the pillow. “You’re going to make me crazy, Mack. All right.
    It’s for my assistant, Joe Spagnola. Are you satisfied now?”
    “Damn it, Jaimie,” Mack snapped, his eyes blazing.
    Kane sat up straighter, a dark frown on his face.

    44

    “Well, I couldn’t do this alone,” Jaimie hastily defended. “There’s a lot of work and he’s been invaluable.”
    Kane snorted derisively. “Invaluable.”
    “She gives him beer to drink,” Mack muttered under his breath. “How old is your Joe Spagnola?”
    Jaimie threw her hands in the air. “Look, he’s thirty-two or so, I don’t know. What difference does that make?”
    “You got this guy up here drinking beer in your bedroom and you don’t know what difference it makes?” Mack said, taking a step closer to the bed. His hands were at his sides, fingers opening and closing ominously. “Is he single?”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
    Kane hitched himself closer in the chair. “You bring that guy up here alone with you?”
    Jaimie made a T out of her hands. “Whoa, there, guys. Stop right there. Time out.
    I’m not a teenager anymore and you are not my guardians.” She glared up at Mack.
    “I’m not yours. You got that? I’m not yours. I know what you’re thinking and you can just forget it. You aren’t going to do one single thing to Joe. Not one. In fact, you will be polite to him.”
    Kane and Mack exchanged a long, wordless look. Mack turned away and stalked to the bathroom, every line in his body conveying pure outrage.
    Jaimie threw her pillow after him. The pillow hit the bathroom door just as he closed it. “Don’t egg him on, Kane,” she ordered. “You know how impossible he is.”
    Mack called out to her from behind the bathroom door, his tone somewhere between a threat and suppressed rage. “Somehow I don’t think your Joe is going to get along too well with us. Drinking beer in your bedroom. What will you think of next?”
    “He was not drinking beer in my bedroom,” Jaimie denied hotly. “Where do you come up with this stuff? And it wouldn’t be any of your business if he did,” she added furiously.
    The bathroom door flew open so hard it slammed against the wall. Mack swept up the pillow, hardly breaking stride. He was wearing dove gray sweat bottoms, obviously a concession to her modesty, and nothing else. His body rippled with muscle, with pure strength, as he moved toward her with all the stalking grace of a predator.
    “It’s my business, honey, anytime anyone is in your bedroom. Scoot over.” He

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