Delicious and Deadly (12 page)

"Okay. How much time?"

"I don't know."

"Not good enough, Em."

"It's the best I can do. Take it or leave it."

So that was it?

She was kicking him out?

He'd handed her his heart, asked her to marry him, but he wasn't enough.

Emma wanted to control her future and he wasn't invited to be a part of that future.

Okay.

Message received and understood.

Oscar didn't say a word.

He simply turned and left.

Three days later Emma's stomach roiled at the thought of coming face-to-face with her mother after a year. The words in the letter supposed to have been sent by Oscar, words written by the woman who'd brought her into the world, had a bright and fresh anger lick through Emma's veins.

In her hour of need, Theodisius, the Master of the island of Eden, had been an incredible support. He'd agreed to bring Catherine Ludlow to the island. And Emma knew she'd never be able to repay him for his kindness. The plane carrying her mother had landed twenty minutes ago and now Emma was braced, waiting for the knock on the door of her suite.

She'd dressed carefully for the meeting. Her hair was slicked back in a high tail. She wore skinny jeans she knew her mother disliked, a sleeveless shirt of white cotton that showcased her tanned and toned arms and flat ballet pumps.

If only her heart would calm down.

If only the cold sweat would stop trickling down her back.

Hands shaking, she clasped them together.

Emma hated confrontation.

Hated it.

But this confrontation was one instigated by her and she couldn't avoid it.

Emma knew life was messy, that bad stuff and good stuff (like her feelings for Oscar) came along at the same time. However, before she saw him again, she needed to make things right. Despite the turmoil inside, Emma took a breath and lifted her chin. And readied herself for what was to come.

The knock had her take another deep breath before she moved across the room.

Emma opened the door and faced the woman who'd caused her nothing but heartache.

Catherine Ludlow had a face like a thunderstorm just waiting to bring darkness and torrential rain to a bright and sunny day.

Dressed in a silk suit of silver grey that matched her eyes, Emma's first thought was that her mother looked older. Fine lines now crept around her eyes, her mouth. As always the blonde hair was immaculate and her beautiful face had been very carefully made up.

Her mother looked her over, a cool scan from her toes to her hair. And then she swept past her daughter and into the room.

Emma closed the door and turned to watch her mother check out the room, take in the island scene from the French doors.

"Hello, mother."

No response.

Instead she moved to perch on the end of a sofa and for the first time met Emma's eyes.

"I'm not used to being summoned, Emma."

The tone was borderline offensive and it stiffened Emma's spine and her resolve.

"It was either here or in my lawyers’ office, or the police."

Emma realised with something like shock that in her past life, she'd never have dreamed of talking to her mother like that. But things had changed. Thanks to her mother,
she'd
changed.

Cold eyes the colour of a stormy sea met hers.

Her mother simply stared at her as if she was speaking in tongues.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Emma moved to her desk, picked up a copy of the letter supposedly written by Oscar and handed it to her mother.

Emma returned to her place right by the door to watch the show.

Two bright spots of red on her mother's cheeks were the only sign of guilt.

She sat there, back straight, her mouth a single hard line.

Unbending.

Unforgiving.

"So, can I assume from this, you and that man are together? Big mistake, Emma."

"My relationship with Oscar is none of your business."

Her mother shot to her feet.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me, young lady. You have ruined my life. Made me a laughing stock in society..."

"If you're a laughing stock, you've no one to blame but yourself." Then Emma flicked her hand as if swatting away a fly. "But you're not here to talk about Oscar, you're here to talk about why you wrote that letter."

The response was an insolent jerk of the chin as those eyes went so cold Emma shivered.

"Your father and I gave you everything. I wasn't going to stand by and let you throw your life away. That man will never be good enough for you. He's..." The rant stopped abruptly.

Now Emma took a step forward.

"He's what, Mother? A man of colour? How could you do such a thing?"

Cheeks burning, her mother didn't back down.

"A mother's sacred duty is to protect her child. I..."

Seriously?

Emma took another step forward.

"You had
no
right to write a pack of lies. Lies that broke my heart. And I'll tell you something right here and right now, Papa would be as ashamed of you as I am."

Catherine Ludlow sank onto the edge of the sofa, her mouth quivering, eyes misty, but her chin rose again.

"I did what any mother would do. I protected my child. You threw away a wonderful man. A man who loved you. A man society and our friends look up to. A man who..."

Emma had had enough, heard enough.

"Richard hurt me, Mama! He made my life a living hell. He terrorised me. I've a restraining order against him because even though we're divorced he
still
won't leave me alone, won't let it go."

"Richard is quite right, Emma, you are hysterical and not in your right mind. He's a good man. He forgives you. He only wants what is best for you..."

And now everything became clear, her mother needed her position in society as the grieving widow of the late British Ambassador to the United States and to bask in her position as the mother-in-law of a United States Senator.

"You mean what is best for you, Mama, not me."

"He wants you back where you belong."

Emma shook her head in disbelief.

It was like talking to a brick wall.

And she knew, just knew, that she'd never be reconciled with this woman.

Never.

Abruptly, all fight left her.

Left her feeling lost and terribly sad.

"It's up to me where I belong, Mama. Not you, not Richard or anyone else. What you did was nothing short of a disgrace. You caused great pain, not only to me, but to Oscar, too. Neither of us deserved that pain." Now Emma went for the jugular. She'd kept the weapon in reserve in case she needed it. And she needed it now. "And since you're so close to Richard, give him a message from me. If he does not back off and leave me to live my life then I will make it public that not only is he a violent abuser, but that he's impotent."

Pale under cheeks streaked with colour, but unbowed, her mother grabbed her purse and stood.

"I have no intention of listening to more of your lies. You definitely chose the right career for yourself, writing pulp fiction. You invited me here, Emma. I came because I believed you wanted to build bridges between us. Now I see I was wrong. You have made your feelings clear and so have I. We have nothing more to say."

Emma was devastated.

She couldn't help it.

What on earth had happened to the woman who'd given birth to her?

What had made her so bitter, so filled with hate?

As her mother opened the door, Emma spoke,

"Actually we do have something more to say. And if you do not do as I ask I'm contacting my lawyers and we'll make the letter you forged public."

Her mother turned to stare at her with something like shock.

"You're blackmailing me?"

Nausea roiled in Emma's throat even as she ignored the trembling in her legs.

"You'd better believe it."

Oscar was sitting in his office in the castle's kitchen going quietly insane. Work continued to be rewarding and the cookbook was coming along. His editor had sent back the most recent revisions.

And he was fucking miserable.

A tentative knock on his door had his head jerk up.

"Come in," he said.

Of all the people in the world that might have been standing there, Catherine Ludlow was the last person he expected to see.

Emma's mother was as trim and immaculately dressed as ever.

Today she wore a pale grey skirt suit, pearls, and the helmet of blonde hair didn't have a strand out of place.

Cool grey eyes rested for a couple of beats on his hair, his tattoo.

"I'm here to apologise," she told him in a voice that grated over his flesh. "I was only trying to protect my daughter from making a mistake. Any mother would have done the same."

Oscar didn't do the polite thing and rise.

"Sit down."

It wasn't a request, it was an order.

And by the way her eyes widened, she'd received the message loud and clear.

Emma's mother sank slowly to the chair in front of his desk.

"And marrying her to a sociopath wasn't a mistake?"

Her flushed face was the only outward acknowledgement of a direct hit.

Oscar hadn't spent the last couple of days twiddling his fucking fingers.

He'd received some answers from Alexander and Nico and from the Del Garda PR company who were his agents in New York. Richard Murray III had plenty of dirt in his past. Plenty.

Catherine Ludlow cleared her throat.

Her eyes met his.

And Oscar couldn't feel a thaw towards him in those grey eyes.

"Emma sent you to apologise," he guessed. And saw by the heat that scorched her neck, her skinny face, he was right.

"I admit my mistakes, Mr. Spencer..."

"Zamani," Oscar interrupted rudely.

Her brows rose. "Excuse me?"

"I've taken my great-grandmother's maiden name as my professional name. It's Oscar Zamani."

She blinked.

"Because of you I've lost my daughter," she spat.

"Losing Emma is down to you, Mrs. Ludlow, not me." Now those grey eyes went wide at the hard tone of his voice, as she stared for an endless moment into his face.

She rose, swept a hand over her skirt.

The first sign of nerves.

"All I ask is that you do not keep my daughter from me," she whispered.

Oscar stayed just where he was, he didn't rise to see her out the door.

And he knew that his snub had been received and fully understood.

"It's up to Emma to decide where she belongs, Mrs. Ludlow. Not you, and certainly not me."

Catherine Ludlow opened the door and left.

Oscar stood on the covered front porch of his cabin and watched the moon rise.

The night was so quiet and still he heard the beat of bat's wings over his head before they dove after insects. In one hand he held a bottle of iced beer that he sipped from time to time, although he wasn't registering the flavour. It was one of those warm, dark nights where a man could taste the salt of the ocean on his lips along with the scent of the frangipani overflowing from huge freshly planted terracotta pots.

He'd made Emma a promise to give her time.

But he'd be damned if he'd wait much longer.

It had been three days since he'd seen her, since he'd touched her, since he'd held her.

Every night, after a busy day teaching in the kitchens and after slogging over final changes to the Ludlow Hall cookbook, he found himself suffering with a ruthless ache to have her with him. He simply couldn't stand the feeling of emptiness inside him... again. It was hard enough to discover that he still loved Emma, but to deal with his own vulnerabilities where she was concerned... again, was all too much.

She'd hurt him... again.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time, or probably the last.

They'd both been hurt, Oscar realised grimly now and lifted his beer.

He was a man used to making difficult life and death decisions, but he hadn't worked out how to stop Emma Ludlow from breaking his heart all over again. But that didn't stop him from wanting her with a need that was so bad it was killing him.

Bottom line, she didn't trust him.

Oscar wanted more than her trust.

He wanted her to believe in him enough to share everything with him.

Especially her problems.

With her mother's visit and everything the woman had put her through, Emma must be going through hell right now.

The thought of her suffering, all alone, had his hand tighten on the bottle.

Not once had she turned to him.

Not once.

Maybe he should just ignore the promise he made to her.

Suddenly impatient, furious, he moved toward the short stairs.

Then the sound of approaching footsteps reached him before he saw her walking along the wet sand at the edge of the surf towards him. She wore a dress. A flirty little number of lilac silk that danced around her thighs as she walked. Abruptly, tension gripped his shoulders, his stomach muscles.

Oscar set down the empty beer bottle as Emma's pace slowed as she stopped before his steps. No matter how bad his own need was for her, he managed to cling on to enough common sense to keep himself from leaping down the stairs and hauling her into his arms.

So he waited.

During the walk on the beach Emma had been so sure the jumpy nerves in her belly would calm down. It was so hard for her, as a woman who'd been hurt, abused, to deal with the fear that clawed at her stomach and dried her throat. The horrible scene with her mother still tore at her heart. Not once since her mother had left had Oscar been out of her thoughts. Still Emma had gone through excruciating hours of self-doubt before she'd made the choice to come to him tonight. By choosing him over her parent, she was giving him something very precious that she'd never intended to lose again... her heart.

With the moon behind her, she stood in front of him and looked up into his wonderful face, his dark eyes. He just stood there, dressed in jeans that fit in all the right places and a tight T-shirt. He didn't move. Because her legs were trembling so bad, she jerked up her chin as she climbed the wooden steps. And wondered where to begin.

"I needed time to sort out how I was going to live my life. And I've felt so ashamed. No!" She shook her head when he moved towards her. "I understand that I don't need to be. But that's logic and logic has nothing to do with feelings. My mother is my responsibility. I've always felt that and it's something that can't be changed. I know you wanted to help me deal with her. But I needed to come to you without being loaded down with all that emotional baggage. She's gone," she told him.

Oscar stayed exactly where he was, one hip leaning against the open door frame.

"Good."

"I don't know why I'm here," she stated as her eyes stayed on his. "Except I had to tell you that I blackmailed her to do the right thing."

"To apologise to me?" he guessed.

Her face flushed before her eyes met his.

"Yes, and to send a message to Richard to leave me alone."

"What sort of message?"

Now her teeth were chewing on her bottom lip.

And the suspense was killing him.

"I told her I'd make it public that he was an abuser, and..."

"And?" he encouraged.

"He's impotent."

Silence.

Oscar couldn't say he wasn't thrilled that the man hadn't touched Emma sexually. To be honest he'd tried his level best not to think of Emma's private moments with her ex-husband.

His stomach muscles tightened now as he looked at her.

She was pale, too pale, but that wouldn't be enough to stop him from grabbing her.

It was the quiver in her voice that held him back.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Her eyes went wide as she recognised the very first thing he'd ever said to her at the christening of her cousin's twins.

"I've been so lost," she said in a soft voice.

He shook his head.

"Now you've been found. Come here."

He didn't miss the little shiver as she stepped into him until her breasts brushed his chest.

"I'm scared," she said.

Well, that made two of them.

His eyes scanned her stunning face, then he smiled.

"Put your arms around me."

Emma placed her arms around his waist, pressed her pelvis into his.

"Better?"

"No." He permitted himself to pull her close. "More."

Her eyes stayed on his as she pressed every single part of her into him, so intimately the hard muscles of his body readily responded.

His heart thundered against the rapid beat of hers.

"I've come to realise that in life no one has a perfect life," she whispered into his mouth. "If we're really lucky we get perfect, magical moments. We're having one now."

She rose on her tiptoes to set her mouth against his.

"There's many more to come. Too many," he murmured against her lips as his hands skimmed her back, her sides, searching for a zip, for buttons. When he found neither, he ripped her dress. And found his hands filled with bare breasts.

The sound of silk tearing and her scandalised gasp of excitement had fire streak through his belly.

"You know, the very first time I saw you..." His breath was too short, too fast as he tossed the delicate fabric aside to find her naked except for a scrap of silk between her legs. "It didn't matter that we were in church, I wanted you. I wanted to do this."

"Me, too," Emma said against his mouth. And then that mouth was on her breasts. "Amazing."

Rejoicing in the feel of her nipple being sucked into his mouth, she arched her back.

Faster
, was all she could think.
Faster, faster
, as her hands swept up his sides to drag his T-shirt over his head. She needed skin to skin and she needed it now. His flesh, crushed against hers, was already hot and damp. He pressed his mouth to her heart and her hands clung to his hair to press him closer. She wanted more, demanded more. He slid down her body, his mouth trailing an erotic path down her belly to nuzzle the scrap of fabric between her legs. Her fingers dug into strong shoulders as she spread her legs and thrust her pelvis into his searching mouth.

He couldn't seem to get enough.

His plan had been to take it slow, to seduce, to make love to her in his big soft bed. But the plan had leaked out of his brain. All he could think of was Emma and how she smelled, how she tasted and how she sounded. God knew she owned him. Controlled him. The island might be magical, but no witch could have cast a spell to capture his heart, his mind, more completely than Emma. He ripped her panties, all patience lost. Because he needed to taste her, to see her. Every single part of her.

Half-mad, his mouth sucked the glistening folds, tasting the sweet honey. He kissed her, there. And somehow, through the roaring in his ears, he heard the moan escape from her throat. Now his fingers slid through her wet, slick heat. Her body, so tight, so wet, pulsated around two fingers. And all the while she shuddered, quivered, as her head fell back in pure female abandonment as, eyes closed, she rode his hand searching for the ultimate release. God, he was rock hard, loving watching her come while his tongue licked and stroked and sucked the swollen little nub. Even after her body clutched around his fingers, as her scream rent the air, he gave her more and more again until she was collapsed on her back on the bare wood.

How could she have known, Emma wondered, that pleasure could be so delicious and deadly to her heart? Or that she would demand more of him. All of him. Every single part of him was inside her now. She wound her legs around his hips and took every single inch of him deep inside her. The sound of his first gasp made her smile, the last one ended in a cry. And now she opened her eyes to find his darker than they'd ever been before and fixed on hers as he shifted his hips to fill her, stretching her so good. Then he moved fast, his big body slapping against hers and she kept pace with him. Lost in a tornado of utter pleasure, she heard nothing but the joyful cry of her heart as they flew over the edge together.

"You can't be comfortable," Oscar murmured into her neck minutes, or it could have been hours, later.

"Hmm?"

"I'm too heavy."

"Are you? I can't tell since I can't feel my body."

He rolled off her and propped on an elbow to look down at her. She appeared to be asleep, or unconscious, except he knew better. Her breathing was slow and easy and her eyes were closed. Her legs and arms lay spread, like a ragdoll, on the bare wood of the deck. She didn't move a muscle.

Now he frowned and hoped to hell she didn't have splinters in her tight little butt.

"You look as if you've been hit by a truck."

Her lips curved.

"You ran me over and destroyed me."

Because he could, he bent down and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth.

"Plenty of life left in you yet."

She half-opened one eye.

"You cried my name, twice."

She was right, he admitted, and didn't give a damn.

"The plan," he said now as he pressed fast little kisses all over her face, her neck, her breasts. "Was to use the bed, except you were in a hurry."

Now two eyes half-opened and he caught the gleam shimmering there like emeralds.

"Excuse me? Who was it ripped my best silk dress off my body?"

"I'll buy you another one."

With a heartfelt groan, he moved to sit and then to stand.

"Oh my, now that's view a girl doesn't see every day."

Her eyebrows wiggled as she stared at his package, licked her lips.

Naughty girl.

She shrieked as he lifted her into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder.

And shrieked again as the flat of his hand smacked her bare bottom.

She didn't put up a fight, she just fell limply over his shoulder and slapped his ass.

"No physical abuse."

Shit.

He stopped dead.

How could he have forgotten?

Oscar slid her down his torso until she was standing in front of him.

Her laughter ended when she saw his face.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Come on, Oscar." Emma smiled. And swore to get rid of the guilt, the concern, in his dark eyes. "I was joking."

Brushing aside her laugh, he turned her around to inspect her bare bottom and she heard him swear. "It's red and your back's been rubbed raw on the deck. Jesus, Emma..."

Over her shoulder, she could see his jaw tense and instead of stroking it, she punched him on the arm, hard.

"You're being ridiculous, I used to spar with Bronte and Alexander and I'm tougher than I look."

"If I ever get my hands on that son-of-a-bitch, I'll..."

"Stop it."
Now she slapped her hands on either side of his face. "Do not bring him into our now or our future. Please don't do that to us, Oscar."

He nodded, but his jaw was still tense.

Now she tugged him down onto the bed and said nothing until they lay, legs and arms entangled.

"I didn't mean to..." he began.

She slapped him smartly on the ass, let out an unsteady huff.

"You seriously need to learn how to lighten-up and have fun."