Dangerous Lover (19 page)

“Here.” Caroline sighed. “With Toby.”

“What did you two do?”

“In the beginning, in the first couple of years after the accident, I tried inviting people over for Christmas. Both of us got depressed on Christmas Day, and I thought having people over would cheer us up.” She stopped, remembering. Remembering how awkwardly people reacted to Toby. How no matter what Christmas feast she cooked up, they would start leaving right after the coffee was served.

It was such a painful contrast to before. To when Christmas at the Lakes’ was a lavish celebration lasting days, often with houseguests, full of food and wine and music and laughter.

“And? Did it work?” He was watching her closely, as if her answer mattered to him.

“Sort of. In the beginning, anyway. Toby—Toby had some control over his movements in the first few years. But then as his physical condition deteriorated, our popularity…waned. The last few years, we just celebrated by ourselves. I always put up a tree, and played some carols, and we watched TV and played chess. Toby is—
was
a wicked chess player. He always beat the pants off me.”

His hand suddenly tightened around her shoulder, and Caroline looked at him in surprise. The firelight danced in his dark eyes in tiny pinpricks of light. Of heat.

“I can’t play chess worth a damn, but I’d sure like to learn how to, so I can beat the pants off you,” he whispered in
a low, purely male growl that had prickles running up and down her spine.

Just like that, desire surged up, like an electric shock she could feel down to her fingertips and toes. It was a miracle her hair didn’t stand on end, like one of those cartoon characters sticking a finger in the electric socket. She’d thought the wine had created heat in her system, but there wasn’t a Burgundy in the world that could stand up to the heat in Jack’s eyes.

Warmth spread throughout her entire body, pooling in her breasts and sheath, which was already wet. He’d barely touched her, hadn’t even kissed her, and her body was readying itself for him.

And he knew. Of course he knew. Those sharp dark eyes missed nothing.

“But then,” he whispered, his arm curling her toward him, “maybe I don’t need to lose at chess to get your pants off.” She was brought up against him, and his mouth covered hers. The kiss was long and languid, his tongue deep in her mouth, stroking hers, in time with the big hand stroking her leg, from her hip down to her ankle, and back again.

On the third pass, his hand slipped under the elastic of her sweatpants to caress her bottom. Oh God, it was wildly exciting, feeling his big, warm hand on her skin, slowly stroking, reaching farther and farther down with his hand until he touched her most sensitive skin, entering her slightly with the tip of one finger. She was slick already, she knew he could feel her arousal. As she could feel his, huge and hot against her stomach. His finger pressed more deeply into her, just as his tongue delved more deeply into her mouth. She could
hardly breathe with the excitement, but it didn’t make any difference. Somehow he was breathing for her.

A long finger entered her, stroking the inside walls of her sheath in slow passes. His thumb passed over her clitoris.

Caroline gasped into his mouth and felt him stiffen. In an instant, her sweatpants and panties were off. She barely felt him strip her, she was so taken with his hands and his mouth. One moment she was wearing her soft sweatpants, the next moment, she felt the heat of the fire on her backside.

Somehow his sweat suit had come off, too, though she couldn’t figure out how since he was always touching her.

“Make me go slow,” he whispered into her mouth as he lifted her over him. In a moment, her legs were straddling him, the lips of her sex open over that long, thick hot column. “Put me in yourself.”

“Okay,” she whispered back.

He was so aroused she found it hard to pull his penis away from his stomach and had to lift herself up on her knees to position herself against the head. She slid along it, testing herself, and felt him exhale heavily into her mouth.

He disengaged his mouth and gently bumped his forehead against hers. She held his penis and swirled herself around the head, feeling him swell against her fingers and against the swollen tissues of her sex.

“Oh, God,” he said, his voice shaky. “Do that again.”

He was sweating lightly. A bead of sweat trailed from his temple down over the high cheekbone to the jaw, where it trembled lightly and disappeared into the thick mat of hair covering his chest.

It wasn’t that hot. What had him trembling and sweating was the self-control he was using, letting her set the pace.

He was deliberately not touching her, his hands fisted on the couch, white-knuckled, as if he didn’t trust himself to use his hands.

Caroline circled her hips, dipping slightly so that he entered her maybe an inch, then lifting away. He made a low sound deep in his throat, but didn’t move. He was so hot she could almost see steam rise off him; he was breathing hard, so aroused the penis she was holding was like a bar of steel, but he was still letting her run the show.

Another dip into him, another whimper, and he let his head fall back over the couch, eyes closed.

The visible control he was exerting over himself was so exciting she could feel a rush of moisture well inside her. A drop ran down his penis, and he shuddered.

“Now. Please.” His voice was low and guttural.

Yes. Now.

Holding him by the thick base, Caroline lowered herself slowly onto him, feeling him slide inside her, first the thick head, then the long column. When she stopped, he was fully embedded in her, and she felt his thick, wiry pubic hair against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

While feeling him slide slowly into her, she’d closed her eyes, to savor the feeling. Now she opened them to find his eyes fixed on her, burning bright. Watching them, she leaned forward and lay her lips lightly on his. Everything about his face was hard—the brutal slashes of his cheekbones, the rigid, well-defined jawline, the finely flared nostrils. Everything ex
cept his mouth, which looked so hard and yet felt so soft under hers.

Turning her head, she opened his mouth with hers, exploring him with her tongue. At the first touch of her tongue to his, he made a noise deep in his chest, and his penis leaped inside her, swelling impossibly bigger.

Oh, God, this was just so enticing!

Jack Prescott was the strongest man she’d ever met, ever
seen
. He carried an aura of power with him, strong and durable. She was no match for him in any physical way and yet right now, she felt much more powerful than him.

She felt like the Queen of the World, with a warrior to command, that powerful body humming under hers, ready to do her bidding.

She stroked his tongue again, and when he moved inside her, she bore down on him, so that it was like a stroke. His breath came out in a soundless explosion.

“Do you like that?” Caroline slid her hands into his black hair, curling her fingers a little to tug it. Not enough to hurt him but enough for him to feel the bite of it.

It always surprised her to feel how warm his hair was since it was the color of midnight.

“God, yeah,” he muttered, the tone guttural.

“And this?” She rose a little on her knees, pulling him slightly out of her, then slid back down, using all her weight. “Do you like this?”

“Yeah. Oh yeah.” He was panting and sweating, jaws tightly clenched at an effort to maintain self-control.

Caroline intended to torture him a little, explore these feel
ings of power over him that were so enticing, even though she knew quite well it was power he willingly ceded. Still, it was heady.

But her plan was starting to backfire. Little tremors were running along the insides of her thighs, her vagina clenched once, twice. The free fall into orgasm was beginning, and she hadn’t even begun to enjoy this feeling of dominance.

No matter, her body was taking over.

She slid up, then down, and felt his trembling. She was trembling herself. “And that?” she whispered, watching him watching her. She felt like she was falling into the dark depths of his eyes.

“Caroline, I can’t—I’m sorry, I have to—”

The hands that had been fisted on the couch came up and fitted themselves on her hips, holding her still as he thrust up inside her, hard.

She winced, and he stopped, panting. His big hands opened, letting her go.

“Can’t touch you now,” he gasped. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

She was going to have to do it herself.

Caroline leaned forward, clasping her hands behind his neck for leverage, and began a slow dance on him, long, lazy strokes as she nipped lightly with her teeth at his earlobe.

The trembling increased, she was so close…

Jack turned his head and caught her mouth with his, moving his hips just enough to match her rhythm. In and out…

He speeded up the strokes, and she met him, rising and falling on him, a flash of heat, then another and suddenly she
was coming, milking him hard, sharp contractions so intense they were almost painful.

With a strong jolt, he came, too, the jets of semen so strong they prolonged the climax. They groaned into each other’s mouths, and Caroline felt like she was breathing through him.

It took her a long time finally to settle down, but when the tension finally left her body, she curled forward, nestling her head on his shoulder.

As always, he was still hard inside her, even after his climax. She lay still. Any movement with him inside her would abrade her supersensitive skin, on the razor’s edge of an arousal so strong it was painful.

He somehow understood. He didn’t move, didn’t try to press up inside her, didn’t try to start making love again. The only thing he did was reach for the afghan thrown across the back of the couch and fold it gently around her, then wrap his arms around her back.

She settled more deeply against him, lax and warm.

Though Caroline was boneless with pleasure, she was keenly aware of everything. The sharp smells of sex mingling with the rich smell of woodsmoke. Her breasts and belly rubbing against the hair-roughened hard muscles of his chest and stomach each time they breathed. His soft hair tickling her cheek. The taste of salt on her lips.

Above all, she was aware of some giant emotion swelling inside her, big and bright and new.

It took her several minutes before she realized it was happiness.

Summerville

It had taken him all day Sunday to cross the fucking continent, and when he finally landed in Seattle in the middle of a snowstorm, Deaver had only taken the first step toward getting his diamonds back.

He had two new identities—Frank Dawson, farm machinery sales rep out of Iowa and Darrell Butler, FBI Special Agent. Both of them were shallow identities, but Deaver wasn’t expecting to use either one for more than a week, two tops.

It was Dawson’s passport that would get him to the Caymans. Once he got his diamonds back, he’d drive down to Tijuana, ditch the rental SUV, then fly one way to Grand Cayman Airport. Even after paying Drake, he still had enough to lie low for a while. And once he had his diamonds in his hands, he would contemplate Drake’s offer.

It had stunned him, that he knew about the diamonds, but then Drake wasn’t a millionaire many times over because he was stupid. He was a dealer, sure, but his main commodity wasn’t guns or fake ID, though he did a thriving trade in them. No, the main thing he sold was information, and it flowed to him, wherever he was, like a river to the sea.

That system of information extended to a network that crisscrossed the States. Half an hour after landing, Deaver was at a warehouse outside Seattle, the meeting having been set up by Drake. Deaver got every single thing he’d paid for, in excellent working condition and with extra ammo thrown in for goodwill.

Three hours after that, he was pulling into Summerville. He’d called ahead for a room at a Holiday Inn in Darrell Butler’s name and said he was arriving late. He had something to do before checking in.

A downloaded map of Summerville lying on the passenger seat helped him to find Caroline Lake’s house. It was in the rich part of town, old stone-and-brick mansions set on ample grounds.

He drove by slowly, carefully studying the house. It was one of the nicest ones in this part of town—large but graceful. There was no wall, just an upward slope of what might have been lawn but now was an expanse of snow, split by a walkway. Someone had shoveled the snow off the walkway and the drive.

Ten minutes later, he drove by again, trying to see whether there was an external security system, but the light from the streetlamps wasn’t enough to be able to tell whether the win
dows were alarmed or what kind of lock was on the front door. That would require close scrutiny, and he’d have to leave tracks in the snow. If Prescott was in there, he’d notice immediately.

The only thing he could tell with certainly was that there were no security cameras.

So maybe the beautiful Miss Lake was the trusting sort.

It was a thought. Jack Prescott was a tough man to break. Trusting little Caroline Lake was going to be the hammer that would smash him.

This was good. A plan was forming.

Satisfied that he had done all he could for the moment, Deaver drove off to his hotel.

Tomorrow the endgame began.

On Monday morning, Caroline peered out at the sky, trying to gauge what to expect. It wasn’t snowing at the moment, but the sky was a sullen dark gray, even though it was eight in the morning.

Would it snow today? She hadn’t been able to listen to the forecasts because the TV and the radio were both still on the blink. She could check the Internet, but her computer was up in her room and by the time she powered it up and Googled the weather, she’d be running late.

Whether it snowed or not was out of her control. She needed to drive to work, and that was that. Plus, Jack wanted to get going on whatever it was he needed to do today. He was already in his denim jacket, ready to go.

Caroline pasted a smile on her face. Monday mornings were always hard, but this one was harder yet.

If she could, she’d press rewind and live yesterday all over again. They’d done absolutely nothing but eat and make love all day. Well,
she’d
done nothing but eat and make love all day. Jack had managed to fix her leaky washing machine, repair the bookshelves in her bedroom, oil the hinges of the garage door and shovel another bazillion tons of snow off the driveway. All the while insisting she sit in front of the fire with a book, a glass of wine and a blanket.

He didn’t take no for an answer. The only thing he let Caroline do was cook, then wolfed down whatever she put in front of him. They’d made love in front of the fire, in the shower and several times in her bed and she’d slept like a log afterwards.

It felt as if she and Jack had been living in a delightful little Christmas bubble, cut off from the outside world and its cares. But now the outside world loomed, and she had to face it, starting with driving them into town over icy roads with bald tires and no spare.

“Weather looks bad.” She sighed.

“Yeah.” He glanced at his watch with a frown. The doorbell rang. “About time,” Jack muttered, and went to the front door.

Someone was standing there with a form and a set of keys. Behind him, on the street, was a big black Explorer. Jack signed the form and took the keys. When the door closed behind him, he dangled the keys in front of her, and said, “Wheels.”

He bent and gave her a quick kiss.

“What?”

Jack pointed to the Explorer outside. “I rented that for a week, until I can find something to buy. It’s no weather to be driving around with bald tires. I’ll drive you in and drive you back until the weather clears up.”

A couple of days ago, Caroline would have objected, out of pride if nothing else. But she’d almost got them killed Friday night, so she said nothing.

He helped her into her coat and put on his denim jacket.

Caroline fingered his jacket. “You need warmer clothes.”

“Yeah. I’ll buy some today.”

“The cheapest place in town is Posy’s, and the Christmas sales have already begun, so you should get some good deals. Or you could maybe try The Clothes Factory on State Street. They have used clothes, sometimes very good ones. I shop there a lot. I hate thinking of you going out in this weather with only this jacket.”

He looked down at her, eyes dark and unfathomable. “I’ll be okay,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about me.”

Don’t worry
. Caroline nearly sighed. Worry had been her middle name for so many years now that she’d forgotten what it was like not to worry.

She looked up at him, hand still on his jacket. She was stalling and she knew why. “I don’t want to go out,” she whispered.

He picked her hand up and brought it to his mouth. “No,” he said simply.

Outside was cold and bleak, another country. A country of problems and hardships. Inside was warm and safe, where nothing could touch her.

Except Jack, of course.

Caroline stepped forward and put her arms around his lean waist and burrowed in. His arms went around her immediately. There was one thing to be said for dressing lightly, she could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady. Just like him.

She had a sudden panicky intuition that this weekend had been a mirage. Maybe she’d invented a Jack Prescott out of her loneliness and depression. He’d done nothing but give, filled her with warmth, shown her a sensuality she had no idea existed.

“I can’t tell you what this weekend has meant to me,” she whispered, holding him tightly. The happiness she’d felt seemed to her like smoke, already dissipating in the air. The more closely she tried to clutch it, the more quickly it vanished.

Walking outside her front door scared her, like leaving an enchanted castle to face lions and tigers.

She felt a kiss on the top of her head, and Jack stepped back. His eyes were like dark flames. “We either go now,” he said, “or we go back to bed. Your call.”

Put like that, well…Did she want to spend the day in the bookshop, with maybe three customers all morning if she was lucky, go over her accounts—which always made her wince—longing for the day to be finally over, or did she want to spend the day in bed with Jack, being pampered with fabulous sex?

Tough call.

But she was hardwired for duty, and she had a lunch date with Jenna, so she sighed, and said, “Go now.”

Jack opened the door and ushered her out with a hand to her back. “Spend the day thinking about what you’re going to cook for me for dinner.”

He laughed and evaded her elbow.

Jack was doing one of the hardest things he’d ever done in a lifetime of hard things. He didn’t dump a massive amount of money into Caroline’s bank account. Did not did not did
not
. He had to grit his teeth to keep from doing it, but he managed.

He was at a Summerville bank. It didn’t matter which one—he’d chosen it because it was next door to a Starbucks, so he could go to the bank and get a good cup of coffee at the same time. The important thing was that it wasn’t Caroline’s bank.

He knew which bank she kept an account in. He also knew how much money was in that account, and he knew how big her debt was. She banked at the Central Savings & Loan, she had less than $1,000 in her checking account—almost $2,000 with his month’s rent and deposit—and she was $354,759 in the red.

Caroline was entirely too trusting. Her bank records were kept right out on her desk for all the world to see.

Knowing she had essentially nothing except debts, he deliberately chose another bank, any other bank, because if he went to hers, the temptation would be overwhelming simply to shift money from his account to hers.

A million, two. Hell, even three, what did he care? He had more than enough for his needs for the rest of his life, and it
would be worth every penny to see those slight frown lines caused by money worries disappear.

Well, all in due time. It would happen, just not today. Caroline was no dummy, and it wouldn’t be hard for her to connect him appearing in her life together with a large sum of money showing up in her bank account.

His turn up at the window. There was a perky brunette, who made no attempt to hide her interest.

“Yes, sir? May I help you?”

He’d take care of diversifying in stocks and bonds later. For now, he just wanted to dump the money in an account.

“Yes, I want to open a bank account and get a safe-deposit box.”

The smile was frankly flirtatious now. “Yes, sir. Please fill out this form. We’ll need your address and telephone number. Will you be making a cash deposit or check?”

“Cashier’s check.”

Jack filled the form out quickly, putting Caroline’s address and phone number down. He slid it across the counter together with the cashier’s check for $8 million and change.

The teller turned it around, running a quick, experienced eye down the form, then glanced at the check and did a double take. A quick look at him, smile gone, and with a murmured, “I’ll be right back, sir,” she disappeared.

Jack was prepared to wait for as long as it took, but she came back immediately with a short man who was going to fat. Clearly the branch manager.

“If you’ll just step this way, sir,” the man said, pointing to a door. Jack entered first. It shouldn’t take long for the bank
to check with his own bank in North Carolina. A couple of calls later, the money was deposited, and Jack had put the diamonds in a safe-deposit box.

Putting the cloth bag into the flat box gave him a huge sense of relief. Even through the cloth, they felt hard, even hostile. Cold lumps of pure evil. He’d taken them from Deaver because he couldn’t stand even the thought of someone profiting from the massacre he’d been helpless to stop and because there’d been no one left alive in the village to give them to. And turning them over to the Sierra Leone authorities…Jack had rarely seen a more vile or corrupt group of men. No, they were going to stay in the safe-deposit box until he could get them where they needed to go.

When he’d finished his bank business, he stood outside, the gelid wind whipping at his clothes. So this was a Summerville winter.

He turned his jacket collar up against the icy wind trying to drive needles of sleet into his neck and entered the Starbucks. He needed winter clothes, but he needed another infusion of hot coffee more.

Jenna came into First Page in a whirl of sleet and the scent of pine. “My God, the weather’s awful!” she exclaimed as she rushed in, kissed Caroline on the cheek and handed her a pine wreath.

Caroline smiled and turned the sign around to
CLOSED
, which is what she usually did when Jenna showed up for their Monday lunches. Tuesday to Saturday, she stayed open over the lunch hour, hoping for a few extra sales.

No hope of that. Jenna was the first person to come into the bookstore today, and Caroline had a sinking feeling she’d be the last.

She turned the small wreath around in her hand. “It’s lovely,” she said. And it was—finely made of pine branches with a red silk ribbon braided through it. She brought it to her nose and drew in the marvelous fresh scent of pine. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Jenna was removing layers of clothes, dumping them on the armchair. She hated the cold and always said that when her ship came in or she found a millionaire to marry, she’d move to the Bahamas. “Thank Cindy. She made it for you. I’m so proud of her. She found the instructions in a magazine and spent an entire evening on it.” She eyed the wreath proudly. “Not too shabby for a nine-year-old, eh?”

“No, indeed.” Caroline carefully placed it on a side table, next to a pile of Christmas-themed books. “She’s coming along well. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thanks to you,” Jenna replied. “I’m so grateful to you, I don’t have words to tell you.”

Caroline waved that off with a smile.

Jenna had been her best friend all through high school. She’d married her high-school sweetheart instead of going to college, and had had two kids in quick succession—Mark, now twelve and Cindy, nine. Jenna had reveled in marriage and motherhood and had cut herself off from the outside world in a little haze of domesticity. When Caroline’s parents died, and Toby was left so damaged, Jenna had proved completely unable to cope with the idea of tragedy. She hadn’t come to the funeral, and she didn’t answer Caroline’s phone calls.

It had been such a common reaction that Caroline didn’t even hold it against her. Lots of people somehow felt that bad luck could be contagious, and for a while after Toby’s funeral, Caroline noticed people crossing the street to avoid having to offer their condolences. Nobody likes bad news.