Blood Ties in Chef Voleur (9 page)

“Cara, are you sure?” he said.

She looked at his naked body through the steaming spray. “Oh, I’m sure,” she said. “Now close the door. You’re letting all the hot water out.”

She manipulated the shower fixtures until a wide, hard spray beat down on both of them. She lifted her face to the hot water. Her body began to relax in the wet heat. The disgust and fear that had roiled up inside her when the man had touched her sluiced away down the drain.

Jack’s hands slid across her shoulders and down her arms, dissolving the chill that had clung to her since the man had said he would kill her. Jack pulled her back against him and continued to caress her.

“Cara,” he breathed. “Your skin feels like rose petals. Thick and soft and sweet and delicate. I love touching you. I love the feel of your skin against my hands, against my body.”

Cara Lynn sighed. There was something to be said for pure physical attraction. She knew that he didn’t love her like she loved him. But she did believe what he’d just told her. She believed that he loved touching her and making love with her. Although his touch was purely physical, as she struggled to forget her attacker’s hand on the back of her head, his knee in her back and the gun barrel against her throat, she knew physical could be enough.

This painful sham of a marriage was teaching her a lot about herself. She’d never even considered that she’d find herself in a loveless marriage. Worse, she’d never dreamed she would choose to stay with someone who was using her. Her grandmother’s fractured words from the letter came back to her.
I shall wait until you marry to give you the last journal. Not until you have a love of your own, can you know the joy and heartbreak of love and then perhaps, you can understand why I did
.

Had her grandmother somehow known that years after she’d died, Cara Lynn would marry a man who would betray her?

The question hammered at her brain, again and again and again. Yet right now, as Jack’s hands, hot and soothing as the shower’s spray, caressed her skin, she was surprised to find that she didn’t care what was driving him. Maybe all he wanted was proof that his grandfather was innocent. Maybe the only reason he was here with her now was to ensure that she considered him safer than the unknown. She didn’t care. She needed him, so she would accept whatever he chose to give her and she would give him back all she could.

“Cara?”

“Hmm?” she said.

He touched her forehead and her neck, then he touched the curve where her neck and shoulder met. “What’s this?”

“Ow. I don’t know. It stings a little. What does it look like?”

She felt him run a fingertip over the sore place.

“Tiny scratches,” he said.

“I don’t know,” she answered dismissively as she moved to stand behind him.

“Hey, where’re you going?” he asked, with a little chuckle as she slipped away from his caressing fingers.

“I’m right here,” she murmured. She filled her hands with citrus-scented body wash and from behind him, massaged it into his muscular shoulders as the water flowed in rivulets down his honed, planed body. His biceps were as hard and smooth as river-worn rocks. His torso was a sleek, taut landscape. As she lay her cheek against his back and reached around to spread soap over his pecs, his abs and lower, she heard a sexy growling sound from deep in his throat.

He turned to her, his skin golden and glistening. He smiled at her and pushed wet strands of hair out of her face.

Cara Lynn stared. It was
that
smile. That wonderful, secret smile she’d thought she might never see again. If she saw it ten thousand times, she’d still be knocked out by it. He hadn’t smiled at her like that since they’d gotten married. But right now, it was there on his face and no matter what else he was, she knew he would protect her.

She kept spreading the suds across his skin, her fingers delighting in the sleek hardness of his body. As she caressed him he put his hands on top of hers and followed her path, breathing hard, gasping when she finally moved her palms down to touch his arousal.

“Ah, careful hon,” he muttered. Then he lifted her hands and slid his palms across hers, taking the liquid soap from her hands and using it on her body.

He rubbed her all over, encircling her breasts, rubbing his thumbs across her peaked, throbbing nipples. He slid his hands down her belly, pressing it, shaping it, then, ignoring her gasps and moans, he moved lower. She almost collapsed as he slid his hands between her thighs. “Jack—” she cried, catching onto his slick shoulders for balance. “Please—”

He stopped. “Enough with the soap,” he murmured, aiming the showerhead lower, so that the strong spray hit her shoulders and his chest. Then he stepped into the path of the spray and turned around to rinse all the soap off his body.

“Rinse,” he said. “I’ll be outside.” And he was gone in a small whirlwind of cool air.

Cara Lynn had no idea what he was doing. The first thing that popped into her head was that he’d abandoned her. He had brought her almost to the pinnacle and then he’d left her alone. As she rinsed the soap from her body, she touched where he had touched and the fading sensations made her want to cry.

When the soap was gone, she stepped out of the shower and into the folds of a large white towel that Jack held up for her. As he wrapped her in the fluffy warmth, his arms lingering around her in a protective embrace, she began to cry.

Jack stopped rubbing the towel over her body and caught her up in it, holding her close as he stared down into her face. “Cara? Did I hurt you?”

She wanted to scream
yes. Of course you hurt me. I almost died of the pain when I found out who you really were.

But she didn’t. All she did was collapse in his arms and let him guide her to the bed.

To her surprise and gratefulness, he’d stripped and remade the bed while she was rinsing off the soap. He lowered her gently down onto the blankets and rose above her. Then he was in her, filling her with his gentle strength and his heat. And it was enough—almost.

She ran her hands down his body, cool now from the water that had dried on his skin, over his corded muscles, his lean flanks, his hard, long thighs. When he began to move in her, her body, as always, slipped into his rhythm. Her breasts ached with it, her belly quivered, her loins burned. And tears still slid from her eyes.

Jack lifted his head and gazed down at her, that smile seeming unsteady, his lips quivering. Then he kissed her. As he did, his movements quickened, and Cara Lynn’s entire being spasmed with delicious pleasure. Nothing he had done so far—nothing—made her feel like his kiss did.

When he kissed her, she felt everything. She felt his desire, so hot and swelling that he seemed ready to explode. She felt her own, climbing, climbing—so close, so very close.

Incredibly, they reached their separate peaks together, and for an instant Cara Lynn thought they might have exploded, the shock of their shared climax was that great. Then Jack collapsed beside her, his chest heaving, his breaths fast and uneven.

She lay, reveling in the fading sensations, loving the small spasms she felt from Jack’s body that told her he was basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, just as she was.

He turned his head toward her and she met his gaze. He smiled at her again—that same smile—and a thrill arrowed through her. Then, to her utter surprise and delight, he lifted his head and kissed her full on the mouth. It wasn’t a hesitant kiss, or a desperate one. It was languid, sweet and yet erotic, and it was long. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were troubled. “Cara?” he said.

“Oh, Jack,” she said, pressing her face into the hollow of his shoulder. “I love you.”

Every muscle in his body went rigid. Only then did she realize that she’d said those words aloud. She didn’t move as she waited to see what he would do.

In the weeks they’d known each other, she’d never said it before. She’d waited, wanting him to say it first. But he never had. He’d told her all the things about her that he loved. He’d told her that he loved how she made love with him. He’d told her a lot of things. Specific things.

But he’d never once said the words
I love you
to her.

He lifted himself up onto one elbow and looked down at her as if he’d seen her on the street and stopped, trying to figure out if he knew her. It was a detached, hurtful look. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.” he said. Then he turned away and left their bed.

Chapter Nine

While Cara Lynn was drying her hair and pretending the wetness on her cheeks wasn’t tears, she smelled the most wonderful aroma. When she came into the kitchen, she found Jack making an omelet and perking coffee.

“Hey,” he said. “You hungry?”

“I didn’t think so, but that coffee and those eggs smell great. I didn’t know you could cook.”

He glanced at her sidelong. “I don’t give up my secrets easily.”

“No,” she responded wryly. “You don’t.”

Jack didn’t speak for a few moments as he finished cooking the omelet. “I found a couple of English muffins in the freezer. How do you want them? Toasted and buttered?”

“Mmm. Yes.”

Once they were seated and eating, Jack looked up at Cara Lynn. “I didn’t ask you if you wanted to call the police,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t have let you take a shower.”

She shook her head as soon as he said
police
. “No. I don’t want to call them.”

“Are you sure, because if you need to—?”

“I’m absolutely sure,” she snapped, then frowned at him. “If I call them, I’ll have to tell them what he was after.” She shivered and chafed her arms. “Do you think I should?”

“It’s not about me,” he said. “You’re the one who was attacked. You’re the one who could have been hurt or killed.”

She nodded as a faint echo of terror shook her. “I know, and trust me, I’m from a family of cops. I know how important it is to call the police! But you know what’s going to happen if I do. My family will be pulled right into the middle of all this, and you and I will have to tell everybody everything. Are you ready to do that? I mean, are you ready to expose yourself that way?”

Jack set his fork down with a clatter and took a swig of coffee. “You’re awfully anxious all of a sudden to protect my information. I mean, you’ve wanted to let your brothers and your cousins in on this from the beginning. I don’t know why you’re even hesitating.”

She shrugged as she speared the last bit of omelet. Then she sat back in her chair and sipped her coffee. “I did want to tell them. But for one thing, I don’t know for sure that you’d have made it this far alive if they’d known what you did. And for another, I guess you successfully convinced me that I don’t want them to know I let myself be duped by a Lothario.”

Jack’s expression tightened. He didn’t wince—not exactly, but she saw right away that he didn’t like being called that.

“Now you’re the one wanting to call the police. I’m confused. Not that confusion is a brand new state for me.”

Jack’s face changed again. It seemed to go dark, as if a cloud had passed over the sun. “I don’t like the fact that you were attacked by a dangerous man with a gun, who bruised you and threatened your life.”

She set her cup down. “Well, neither do I.” She spread her hands. “So now you’re all about protecting me. Well, sorry if I’m just a little skeptical. It’s still about finding proof of your grandfather’s innocence, isn’t it? Are you trying to use some kind of reverse psychology on me? Like you know if you want me to tell the police I’ll dig my heels in and refuse? And then of course you’ll look good because you were trying to get me to call them.”

Jack raised his eyebrows and grinned at her. “That’s a little bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” he asked. “If you don’t want to call them, that’s your decision I guess. But why not?”

Cara Lynn got up and put her dishes in the sink and turned on the hot water. She picked up the dish brush and washed her plate, cup and fork.

Jack came up and reached around her to set his dishes down. “Wash mine, too?”

Without speaking, she quickly washed his and set them in the dish drainer. When she dried her hands and turned around, he didn’t move backward. He stood his ground and stared down at her. “What is it you don’t want the police to know, Cara?”

She shrugged, but he placed his forefinger under her chin and lifted it so she was looking at him. “What? Was there something else with that letter?”

She thought she was holding her gaze steady, but he saw something in her eyes. When she started to shake her head, he held it still. “There was. Okay, spill it. We promised to tell each other everything.”

“We did not! And besides, you’ve already violated that promise, which—which we didn’t make anyway.”

“Your logic has more twists than a pretzel, hon. What else was in the envelope?”

She ducked and slid away from him. “Why should I tell you anything else?”

Jack assessed her. “If you do, and if it’s important enough, I’ll tell you something I haven’t told you yet.”

“See!” she cried, throwing the dish towel down. “I
knew
you hadn’t told me everything. What? What is it you’ve kept a secret? Is it something about my grandfather?”

“Oh, no. Ladies first. You tell me yours and
then
I’ll tell you mine.”

Cara Lynn studied him. “I don’t think you’ve got anything.”

“Oh, I’ve got something. It’s a big something, too. Huge. It
could
give me the proof I need.”

That she believed, because his dark eyes were glittering with excitement. Whatever he had, he was placing a lot of hope in. What he didn’t know was that her secret could give him the proof he needed, too, or at least put him on the right track. And that was Cara Lynn’s dilemma. Could she just hand him an important piece of the puzzle he was looking for? The puzzle that could easily rip her family’s hearts out? “Okay, well if that’s the case, then, you certainly don’t need anything I’ve got. You’re ready to go, right?”

Jack’s eyes lost a bit of their shine. “I actually do need one thing, in order to—” He stopped himself and shrugged. “But I’ll get it. You just sit back and watch. I’ll get the proof I need, because it
is
out there.”

“Okay, then,” she said, glancing at the clock over the sink. “I’ve had a long and horrible day, so I think I’m going to go to bed early.”

“Cara? Answer one more question for me. Why are you so sure you know the man who attacked you?”

She turned back to look at him. “Because he knew about the letter.”

Jack nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the refrigerator. “And how could he know about the letter?”

“Because he was there and saw it?” she ventured.

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. Nobody else saw it. I didn’t. I wouldn’t have suspected a letter if it hadn’t been for that scrap of paper you dropped.” He studied her for a moment. “What about your mom?”

Cara Lynn frowned. “What about her?”

“Had she seen inside the box before it was opened at the reception? Your mom doesn’t seem like the type of person who would stage something that dramatic without checking out everything ahead of time.”

She smiled. “You’re right about that, but apparently, my grandmother gave Aunt Claire specific instructions about how she wanted the presentation made, and that included putting the items in a lockbox, just like we saw them, and putting the lockbox in a safe deposit box until I got married.”

“So when the box was opened by that banker guy at the reception—”

“My mother said the box was sealed and the reception was the first time it had been opened since my grandmother gave the journal and the tiara to Aunt Claire.”

“It’s been here, in the bank, all these years?”

Cara Lynn nodded. “What are you trying to figure out?” she asked. “Whoever attacked me had to have seen me slip the letter into my purse. But if he saw it, then a bunch of people must have.”

“No. They didn’t. I didn’t see it. It’s a stone-cold cinch that your brothers didn’t see it or we’d know about it. And I haven’t heard a single person talking about it. Have you?”

He didn’t wait for her answer. “I think anyone who’d seen the envelope would have been asking about it and questioning whether the envelope had been taken by the thief along with the journal and tiara.”

“You’re right about that. So nobody saw the letter except the thief and me.”

Jack’s gaze slipped away from hers and focused on something far away. He shook his head. “Right. The thief had to be somebody close.”

“That’s what I meant. Everybody there was family or friends, so whoever did this has got to be somebody I know.”

“I’m talking about position. He had to be close enough to see what you did.”

“Well, whoever he is, he has the letter now.”

“No he doesn’t,” Jack said.

“What?”

“The letter’s not in the briefcase. I gave it to the lawyer.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, good.”

Jack’s face was somber as he looked at her. “Yeah. I think it was good. If the attacker had known the letter was not in the briefcase—”

“What?” Cara Lynn’s stomach sank.

“He might have tried to get you to tell him where it was.”

“Oh,” she said.

Jack put his hand on hers. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t worry. He’s gone now.”

She nodded doubtfully. “But now he still doesn’t have it.”

“True. But I don’t think he’ll try breaking in again. For all he knows, we’ve called the police.” He reached out and almost touched her cheek before he checked his movement and pulled his hand back.

His aborted gesture reminded her of what he’d said earlier, in their bed. “Jack? Why did you say what you did earlier?”

“Hmm?” he said, his brows furrowing in a small frown. “What did I say?”

She shook her head and sighed. “Nothing. I’m tired. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got work to do— Oh, hell! I don’t have my briefcase.”

Cara Lynn stepped across the threshold from the kitchen to the hall, stared down the long, unlighted corridor for a second, then turned back. “Jack?” she said.

His face showed his frustration at not having his briefcase. “What?” he answered shortly.

She paused. “Never mind. Good night.”

She forced herself to walk down the hall to their bedroom. As she climbed into bed, she remembered. Jack had changed the sheets. Grateful tears gathered in her eyes as she slipped under the clean, crisp, freshly washed covers.

She turned out the bedside lamp and closed her eyes, trying to blot out the bad memories. She’d almost drifted off to sleep when she felt Jack’s weight on the bed, and then his warm, strong body spooned her. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

“Oh,” she sighed. “I thought you had to work.”

“I do. I’d left my drawings on the coffee table where I’d been going over them yesterday, but I thought I’d lie here with you until you fall asleep.”

Cara Lynn snuggled back against him and closed her eyes. She sighed, thinking there was nowhere in the world she’d rather be than spooned against the very obviously aroused body of her husband, who loved her.

But that wasn’t where she was. She was in bed with her husband, but he didn’t love her. And as soon as he got what he wanted from her, he’d be gone.

* * *

C
ARA
L
YNN
SPENT
the next morning at her studio. She’d been sketching a new piece. It was to be a large wall hanging, predominantly black and spiraling out from the center. In each spiral, she wanted to add more and more colors to the black, until the outer edges were brightly colored and nothing was left of the black except a meager background.

It was her interpretation of Jack’s dark, dark eyes when he was angry or excited or turned on. Privately, she called it
His Eyes,
but she couldn’t call it that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

After a few hours’ work, she quit, frustrated. Her mind kept wandering back to the journal, and what her grandmother might have been scribbling so furiously in it on that fateful day.

On her way back to her apartment, she called her cousin Ryker, who worked at the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office as a detective.

“Hi, Cara Lynn, are you feeling better?”

For an instant, Cara Lynn thought Ryker was talking about the attack of the day before, that neither she nor Jack had told anyone about. “I’m—I’m—” she stammered.

“What’s wrong, kiddo? That bump on your head confusing you?”

“Oh,” she said.
Bump on the head
. Of course. He was asking about the night of the reception. “The bump. I forget about it until I look in the mirror and see the little cut or absently touch my forehead. I’m doing fine,” she said, hearing in her own ears how nervous and deceptive she sounded.

“Okay,” Ryker said, a tinge of doubt in his voice. “What can I do for you? Did you remember something?”

“No. Nothing like that. I wanted to ask you a favor.”

She heard a rustling of clothes that sounded like he was sitting up straight.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Is there any way you could get me copies of a couple pages from Grandmother’s journal? Or—do you know how long they’re going to keep it? There’s some information I need for my genealogy research.”

“That journal is evidence in your case right now. So the timing couldn’t be worse. Can’t you work on something else until the crime lab’s done with it? You’ll get it back.”

“I’m afraid it could be years. And I thought maybe right now, before trial starts, it might be easier to get a little leeway. Ryker, this is really important or I wouldn’t ask. I feel like I can’t move forward until I get it.”

“What’s going on, Cara Lynn? By now you should have piles of papers and documents and letters to work with. The journal can wait.”

“But Ryker—”

Ryker sighed. “What pages?” he asked.

“I don’t know the page numbers,” Cara Lynn said, a bit hesitantly, “but I do know the date. It’s the day our grandfather was killed.”

“What?” Ryker sounded genuinely shocked. “The day—? What do you need that for?”

Cara Lynn pushed her left hand through her hair. She was finding it easier to lie these days. What did that say about her, much less about her sham of a marriage? “I’m working on Grandmother’s side, the Guillame side of the family,” she said. “And I feel like I need the whole thing, but under the circumstances, I’ll take whatever I can get. Maybe I’ll have enough information to estimate the number of pages I’ll need to put aside for that section.”