Dangerous Lover (13 page)

Deaver waited until the lights dimmed, the stewardesses retired behind the curtains and his fellow passengers were asleep.

Only then did he take out of his pocket three sheets of paper—photocopies of a smudged photograph, a wrinkled press clipping and a digital photograph. The first two had
been folded and unfolded thousands of times, and the images weren’t clear, but still they gave Deaver all the information he needed.

He looked first at the digital photograph, taken by one of his men, Sam Dupont, in Freetown. Sam had stayed behind in the capital to stock up on ammo, and was just ready to get back to their base camp when he saw Jack Prescott, making the rounds, asking about them. He took Prescott’s photo and headed out to Obuja, where Deaver and the rest of the team were waiting for him. Prescott in Sierra Leone was bad news, and Deaver had pushed the raid on the village forward. He hadn’t been expecting Prescott to make it inland as fast as he had.

His fists clenched around the crystal glass of Glenfiddich. Damn! If Prescott hadn’t found a way to get upriver so fast, he’d have come across smoking ruins in Obuja, and Deaver’s men would still be alive and rich.

Deaver touched the smooth sheet, circling Prescott’s head with the tip of his forefinger, letting the hatred and rage run through his system. Prescott had taken what was Deaver’s, and he was going to pay. But first, Deaver had to find him.

He opened the other two sheets of paper and smoothed them out. The photocopy on the right was a press clipping, the paper yellowed with age. It had been cut so that only the photograph and a portion of the caption showed. The only indication of the newspaper’s name was…
ville Gazette.
The date was October 12, 1995.

The photo showed a young girl at the piano in a concert hall. The caption read:
CAROLINE LAKE GAVE A PIANO RECITAL AT WILLIAMS HALL THURSDAY EVENING
.

The other was a standard high-school portrait. There were millions of photos like this floating around the U.S. The girl was the same as the girl in the news photo.

She was a looker, that was for sure. The clipping showed a profile almost hidden by long pale hair. It could have been anyone. But the high-school picture was full-face, and you had to blink to make sure she was real.

Red-gold hair, gorgeous. A younger, softer Nicole Kidman.

That was in 1995. Twelve years ago. Of course in twelve years the girl could have gained fifty pounds, lost her hair, lost her teeth. Died of cancer. Had a kid a year. Started turning tricks. A lot of stuff could happen in twelve years.

Deaver didn’t care one way or another. But that fucker Prescott cared. Oh yeah, he cared. It was the first thing he brought out to look at in the morning and the last thing he looked at before turning in. You don’t do that for anything less than an obsession.

Deaver had watched women trip in and out of Prescott’s bed and leave nothing behind. Prescott sure didn’t keep their photographs as a keepsake. Didn’t keep anything, as far as Deaver could see.

He was careful not to get caught staring at the photographs, but Deaver knew how to wire a webcam as well as anyone else. He’d even caught Prescott jerking off twice, one hand holding a photograph, the other beating his dick.

Photocopying the two photographs had been insurance. Deaver had had a sixth sense that one day he’d need something to hold over Prescott, and as usual, his hunch was right.

Prescott had his diamonds, and Deaver wanted them back. They were
his
. He’d fought for them, he’d bled for them, they were fucking his.

He was perfectly willing to put the knife to Prescott to find out where he’d stashed them. But Prescott, like all Special Forces soldiers, had been inoculated against torture. Not only that—he was a tough son of a bitch. It was entirely possible his heart would give out first.

But everyone has a weak spot, and Deaver was holding Jack’s. A man who jerked off to a woman’s photograph for twelve years probably had feelings for that woman. And might be willing to exchange $20 million in diamonds for her.

Summerville

Every Christmas morning for six years, Caroline had woken up with tears drying on her face. She didn’t remember crying during the night, but she would wake up with wet cheeks, swollen eyes and a feeling of oppression so great it was as if a giant boulder were sitting on her chest.

Not this Christmas morning. She’d slept deeply and well, completely warm in her bed, though she kept the temperature in the house low at night.

Most mornings she woke up slightly chilled, but not now.

Right now, even though she was naked, she was warm down to her bones.

She came awake in low, swooping stages, a degree of consciousness at a time. By the time she realized that she had had fabulous sex last night with an amazing lover, that he
was the source of the glow of heat under the covers and that her pillow was an undeniably hard but somehow comfortable shoulder, she was smiling.

She never thought it would be possible to smile on a Christmas morning, but she definitely was.

Her situation hadn’t changed at all. She’d lost the last of her family two months ago. She had a mountain of debt so crushing it would take her twenty years just to start to get out from under it. Her house was falling down around her ears.

It was all still there, but she didn’t care. Somehow, she was able to let those thoughts recede, far far away, like a long, dark cloud low on the horizon on a sunny day.

Right now, she was happy.

“I heard that,” a voice rumbled under her ear. One big hand moved in her hair, long fingers delicately massaging her scalp. The other lay in the small of her back, heavy, an intense source of heat.

“You heard me smile?” she asked, charmed at the thought.

“Uh-huh.” That big hand moved from the small of her back to smooth over her bottom. Nerve endings sparkled to life as he lazily moved his palm over her buttock.

There was utter silence. Caroline didn’t know what time it was and didn’t care, but judging from the quality of the stone gray light outside the window, it was probably early morning on a blustery, snowy day. It must have snowed again during the night. Snow lay heavy on the branches of the big oak outside her window and was inches thick on the windowsill. It absorbed all sounds. There was utter silence outside, not even a car passing.

They could have been the last humans in the world.

Caroline didn’t care about that, either.

“Merry Christmas,” Jack said, his voice so low she didn’t know whether she’d heard him talking above her head or whether she’d heard the words rumbled deep in his chest.

“Merry Christmas,” she answered, the words muffled against his chest.

Yes, indeed, it was the best Christmas morning in many many years, and it was getting merrier by the second.

His hand was covering both buttocks now, smoothing slowly, warmly over her skin. Such a simple thing—a strong male hand caressing her gently, and yet the effect was incredible. Caroline could actually feel blood rushing to her sex. She could feel herself growing moist and slightly swollen.

Oh, God! His hand was gently probing between her thighs from behind, his fingers touching her moist nether parts. Soft pressure and her legs just naturally opened. He inserted a hairy thigh between hers and opened her right leg so far he had unimpeded access to her with his hand.

He used it, too. A long finger touched her opening softly, spreading moisture around, moving so slowly she had ample time to object if she wanted to. The thought crossed her mind briefly, and she dismissed it as insane.

Jack was causing sensual whiplash. His hand between her thighs was exciting her, arousing her fully. His hand against the back of her head lowered slightly and began lazily massaging her from her shoulders to the sensitive skin of her nape. He must have had some wizardlike knowledge of human—or
at least female—anatomy because she could feel herself relaxing by the second under his ministering hand.

Though the touch was light and soothing, he seemed to be able to reach deep into her muscles, unkink the knots, finding exactly where the stress points were and kneading them into oblivion. All the while igniting a fire between her legs.

She nearly whimpered when he entered her with one finger and started thrusting slowly, gently.

He somehow kept his cool, too. How did he do it?

She was melting by the second, her heart tripping a fast beat, breath speeding up and he was relaxed and calm. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear—slow, steady, reassuring.

His hand between her thighs somehow followed the beat of his heart. The total excitement generated by the hand between her thighs was starting to edge out the deeply relaxing movements of the other hand when he gripped her neck lightly and raised her up farther on his chest. His mouth covered hers in a slow, deep kiss that turned the blood in her veins to warm honey.

A shift of his legs, and she was somehow straddling him, fully open to the broad head of his penis, which she could feel against her sex, hot and hard.

He pulled his mouth away slightly, though she could still feel the heat of his breath as he spoke. “Stop me if you don’t want this.”

He had nudged his penis into her opening. He hadn’t entered fully yet, the huge bulbous head was stretching the tis
sues of her opening. Even penetrating her that small amount was exciting.

Not want this?

He circled his penis, stretching her even more. “Don’t…stop,” Caroline gasped.

“Good,” he murmured, covering her mouth again with his.

The kiss was as long and languid as his entry of her. As if he had all the time in the world, his tongue stroked hers while he entered her slowly, slowly. God, it seemed to last forever. She’d almost forgotten how incredibly big he was. It should have hurt—there’d been very little foreplay—but, incredibly, her body was ready for him.

She’d slept half-on, half-off Jack, enclosed in his arms. While she slept, her body had been readying itself for his.

Finally, he slid into her fully, down to the thick base of his penis, stretching her completely. He didn’t move, he simply kept kissing her, exploring her mouth leisurely.

Caroline sighed into his mouth, shifting so that he was somehow closer, one hand in the warmth of his long hair, the other flat against his broad chest. His hand tightened on her neck as he explored her mouth in rough, deep strokes of his tongue. Inside a minute, his penis was echoing the strokes of his tongue, long and deep and slow.

Being on top usually gave a woman control over the lovemaking, but Caroline wasn’t controlling anything. She didn’t have to do anything, think anything at all. All she had to do was lie in his arms and let herself be ravished, let the slow strokes of his tongue and his penis in her spread honeyed warmth throughout her system.

One large hand pressed down on her backside as he lifted himself up into her, driving slowly, deeply, as steady as a metronome, like a warm, steel machine. Time spun out in the quiet room, the only sounds their breathing and the slight creak of the bedsprings.

After a time that could have been ten minutes or an hour, the angle of his strokes changed, deepened, speeded up. The hot pleasure that had spread throughout her body pooled in her groin and turned in a flash into blinding heat. His grip on her backside tightened as the strokes became sharper, faster, nudging upward at an angle that hit all her pleasure spots.

The creaking increased, the rhythm became faster. He wasn’t withdrawing almost all the way out to slide back in, as he had in the beginning. Now they were short, hard strokes that created a heat so intense it prickled in her veins. A moan made it past Caroline’s throat and came out into his mouth as she gently bit his tongue.

It was as if she’d kicked him into another gear. He jolted and made a noise deep in his chest. The thrusts were faster now, harder than before, and she was burning up from the inside with them. She could feel the steely muscles of his belly and thighs rippling as he worked her.

She could barely breathe, the heat was so intense, boiling up from where they were joined to spread throughout her entire body. She lifted away from his kiss and opened her eyes briefly, then closed them again, little sparks of light moving against her inner eyelids. He had been watching her so intently through slitted eyes she couldn’t bear it, his gaze seemed to sear her soul.

Jack bent his head to kiss her neck and nipped her lightly with his teeth. The tiny pinprick of pain set her off.

“Oh!” she cried, holding on to him tightly as her vagina convulsed sharply. Somehow Jack found the rhythm of her contractions and prolonged the orgasm—forever it seemed. Just as they started dying down, his motions became rougher, less controlled, faster and, impossibly, he swelled even more inside her. With a huge groan, he locked her to him with a strong arm across her back, embedded as deeply as he could go and exploded.

Caroline opened her eyes again to find his face contracted, almost in pain, teeth clenched tightly against the sounds that wanted to escape. Inside her, she could feel the jets of semen as he came in huge spurts. She’d never felt anything like that before—as if his climax were hers, too. The jets were so strong that she had another little climax on the wings of her first.

He felt that, too. His jaw muscles clenched as he tried to hold still for her.

Finally, it was over. Caroline’s head sank back down to Jack’s shoulder, and all her muscles loosened. His hands loosened their hold on her and began caressing again, lightly. More to relax than to arouse.

Arousal was impossible anyway. There was nothing left in her to excite, all her cells had turned into little puddles of protoplasm.

Slowly, Jack withdrew from her. Amazingly, he was still semierect, though Caroline had no idea where he could go with it. He could forget about her. She was already starting that long, luscious free fall back into sleep.

“Caroline? Honey?”

“Mmmmff.” Caroline had no desire to talk or do anything other than lie bonelessly on him, feeling his hand moving gently through her hair. She might never get out of bed again.

“It snowed all night. I need to shovel the snow on your drive and the paving; otherwise, it’ll turn to ice.”

“No,” she mumbled. He wanted to get out of bed? Caroline held him more tightly. “Later.”

“Believe me, honey, I’d rather stay in bed with you, but it needs to be done.” She felt him kiss her hair and move out of her grasp. He threw the covers back just long enough to get out of bed, then covered her back up immediately.

The instant Jack left the bed, it turned cold under the covers. For the first time, Caroline was aware of how wet her groin was with her juices and his. Jack tucked the comforter around her shoulders, his hand lingering for a moment, then she heard him go into the bathroom.

He came out and a few moments later, the door closed quietly behind him. He must have dressed though she hadn’t heard. He was the quietest man she’d ever known.

Caroline wanted to watch him dress, she wanted to see him naked in the daylight, but her eyes simply wouldn’t open. Her breathing slowed, and she drifted into sleep as if into the arms of a beloved friend.

When she woke again, the quality of the light outside the window had changed. Even through the overcast she could tell it wasn’t early-morning light anymore. Caroline lay in bed, thoroughly relaxed. The extra little nap had done her good, and she felt refreshed, almost…happy.

Let’s not go overboard
, she thought wryly. Some would even say she’d made a huge mistake and was headed for trouble. Sleeping with your boarder was not a good idea on so many levels it wasn’t funny. When the affair ended, it was possible that he’d look for quarters somewhere else, and she’d have lost a very good boarder in exchange for some sex.
Very good sex
, it was true, but still.

Something impinged at the edge of consciousness, and suddenly she was aware of a regular noise that had been in the background a long time, coming from outside. Even while she’d napped there’d been the noise, she realized.

What was it? A regular, scraping noise. Caroline threw back the covers and dived for her dressing gown hanging from a hook on the bathroom door, hopping barefoot gingerly to her slippers. It was
cold
!

Pulling on the dressing gown, she made for the window but stopped in her tracks when she passed the mirror on the chest of drawers.

Caroline hardly recognized herself. Her hair was a wild reddish mass around her face, flying in every direction. She looked rumpled and unkempt and…incredibly satisfied. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth looked slightly swollen from Jack’s endless kisses. There was a tiny mark on her throat that could only be—a hickey. My God, she hadn’t had one of those since high school. She was sure Jack hadn’t meant to give her one, but she distinctly remembered him sucking at her skin while he was coming.

The memory of that moment, of feeling him swell inside her, then explode, brought a bright flush to her face and neck
and had her clenching her thighs. She could still feel him inside her. Seeing her face in the mirror, Caroline thought she looked like a woman still making love.

She would have been appalled if it weren’t for the fact that it had been so long since she’d seen her own face as anything but pale and pinched with worry. Now all she needed was a flower behind her ear, and she could have been a carefree tourist on vacation in Hawaii with her lover.

The swishing sound continued. Curious, Caroline glanced outside the window and saw him, methodically shoveling snow and doing a superb job of it. Somehow he’d found where she kept the shovel in the garage and had cleared a path almost to the street. It was a long path and the snow was deep. He must have shifted several tons of snow.

He’d not only cleared the walkway to the street, but he’d also cleared the driveway and found the bag of rock salt in the garage and strewn it over the paving stones so it wouldn’t ice over.

It would have taken Randy, Jenna’s nephew, five hours to do that job half as well, and it would have cost her $30.

As if there was an invisible thread connecting them, he suddenly stopped and looked up. Meeting his dark gaze was like a punch to the stomach.