Page 69 of Tough as Steele

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I kissed you?”

She didn’t answer at first, just looked at him, and he held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t say no.

“Can I kiss you?” He heard desperation in his tone and hoped it wouldn’t scare her off.

She didn’t speak but rose up on tiptoe, closed her eyes, and kissed him. Soft like a butterfly at first, but he wanted more. Much more. He drew her closer, her peach scent enveloping him in a cloud of sweetness. He deepened the kiss. His heart thundered, and he forgot about everything but the softness of her lips. The way her warm body felt in his arms. Like she belonged there. Not just for now. For this moment. But forever.

He’d never experienced such an emotion before. Deeply, like his very existence was being altered in some way. A good way. A way he could imagine for a lifetime. Yes, this was right. So very right.

“Ah, sir.” A male voice at the doorway broke the mood.

Londyn jerked back.

Nate released her, took a long breath, and looked at the door where the deputy burst into the room.

“We got a call.” He twisted his hands together. “The kidnapper. He’s on the phone.”

Nate’s brain fog cleared. “Let’s go.”

The deputy spun, but Nate moved faster and brushed past him to the family room.

Clarice held the phone to her ear, her body rigid. He grabbed a headset and put half to his ear and held the other half to Londyn.

“Tell him you haven’t been able to raise the money yet and need more time,” he whispered to Clarice.

Clarice complied, her voice clogged with tears.

“Don’t give me that. I know you have it. No more time. None. Either bring the money or she dies.”

Clarice gasped.

“Ask for proof of life,” Nate whispered.

She nodded. “I need to know my mother’s alive. I need to talk to her.”

“No.”

Clarice shot Nate a terrified look.

“Insist,” he mouthed.

Clarice took a long breath. “I’m sorry, but I really must insist I talk to her, or I can’t bring the money.”

Silence, weighty, heavy filled the line. Nate heard the mantle clock ticking down the seconds as if mocking the decision to press the kidnapper for proof.

“Fine.” The kidnapper’s irritated tone finally grated through the phone. Footsteps stomping across a wooden floor came through the headset. “Talk. It’s your daughter.”

“Clarice?” Mimi’s tone was high and tight. “Is that really you?”

Nate waved at Clarice. “Ask her a question that only she would know the answer to.”

“Do you remember how old I was when I got chicken pox?”

“Five. First day of kindergarten. You were so upset.”

“Give me that,” the kidnapper demanded.

“Was she right?” Nate whispered.

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