Forbidden Pleasure (15 page)

Jethro moved through the foyer toward the stairs. "Loan me the Harley. Dollars to donuts I come back with info."

"But will you come back with the Harley?" Mac grimaced.

"We'll both return unharmed," Jethro promised with that damned smug smile of his.

"It's not you I'm worried about, bro," Mac growled as he pulled the key from the key ring he dug out of his pocket. "That Harley is second only to Keiley. Take care of her or you die."

Jethro flipped him the finger as Mac flipped him the key.

"Keep the bird in hand, Jeth, and the Harley on her wheels."

"She'll fly like a bird and land like a cloud," Jethro promised on his way out the door.

"Like a cloud."

Mac winced. Jethro and motorcycles, they were chancy things. He just prayed his friend took better care of his Harley than he did of his own.

Keiley stood beneath the shower's spray, allowing the warm water to wash over her as she leaned her head back, allowing the water to soak her hair.

Her body was incredibly sensitive, her rear still tender from the night before, her flesh tingling with the memory of the dominance he had displayed. He knew his own hungers, and it seemed he had guessed hers far better than she could have imagined.

Because she had fantasized. From the day she had heard the first rumors about his supposed membership in the very exclusive men's club in Virginia, and had met his friend Jethro, she had fantasized.

She had imagined Mac's lips and hands caressing her. Holding her. Restraining her as Jethro moved between her thighs. Or the other way around. The two men controlling her passion and her responses until she was screaming, begging for release.

She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth as she felt the ache in her clit and her vagina build. Mac had fueled the latent arousal simmering inside her all day. The strength of his body and his lust as he trapped her against the wall downstairs had her creaming furiously. And yet it had her pulling back.

She had seen the deliberate restraint in Mac's face then, and realized he had been employing that restraint for more than three years. She had sensed it, and for a long time she had refused to tempt it. But for the past year she had been dealing with her own restlessness. With the need to push that careful control she knew Mac was employing.

Had she known what it would come to?

Shaking her head, Keiley quickly washed her hair before soaping a sponge and washing her body. She felt too restless, her flesh too sensitive.

Her marriage was changing, and she could feel it. The implications of it kept her on edge. She wished she could say Mac was changing, but she had a feeling that all he was really doing was removing the kid gloves he had touched her with all these years. It was up to her to decide now if she could love and still live with the man he really was, rather than the man he had let her see.

If she could handle his hungers.

The ménage wasn't an either/or. She had no doubts that if she said no, he would respect it. He wouldn't force her. He would try to seduce her. But if he sensed for even a second that she didn't truly want it, then he would draw back. The sex would still be harder. Mac would still let the darker part of himself free.

Unfortunately, she couldn't convince herself that she didn't want this. And her fantasies over the years assured her that she did want it. With Mac. She wanted every sensual, forbidden promise she had seen in his eyes in the past three days.

Rinsing quickly, she shut the water off before wrapping a large towel around her body and stepping from the shower. A quick blow-dry of her hair before she brushed it in place quickly and dried off with swift, economical movements.

Opening the medicine cabinet door, she reached inside for the small bottle of scent she used, only to come up empty-handed. Bending, she looked inside on the shelf before pulling out the drawer beneath it.

There it was, along with her missing comb.

Shaking her head, she pulled the perfume free, spritzed it over her body, then placed it back on the shelf before pulling the comb free and placing it back on the small silver shelf on the sink. She knew she had searched that drawer the other day for the comb.

Which reminded her, after dinner she was going to have to find her dress. It had to be in the washroom somewhere. How she had managed to misplace it she couldn't figure out.

After pulling on a white lacy thong and a matching bra, Keiley dressed in a pair of light cotton summer pants that went over her hip bones and a loose-knit top with a dozen small wooden buttons holding the edges together. It was sleeveless but loose and comfortable.

She didn't have the nerve to wear the low-riding snug cutoffs and short t-shirts she normally wore around the house in the summer. She had learned the day Mac took her against the tractor exactly what those clothes could do to his libido. Not that she hadn't wanted to tease him, torture him a little for missing the surprise dinner she had planned.

But she had a feeling that tonight wasn't the night to push his hunger. Or Jethro's.

With her feet encased in light socks, and a bit more relaxed than she had been earlier, Keiley moved from the bedroom and headed back downstairs. No doubt Mac was back outside working somewhere, which would give her a few hours of peace to get dinner on and finish a few things around the house.

Maybe it would even give her time to repair the break in her own defenses that Delia Staten had caused. She couldn't excuse the rumors to coincidence. Delia had been too gloating, too certain.

But she wasn't a child anymore, she told herself. And she wasn't breaking the law or bringing humiliation down on an innocent family. This was her marriage, and it was her business.

As she straightened the house and ran the sweeper she let the pros and cons of this changing relationship whip through her mind. At the end of the day it came to one thing, though: Mac had made her curious. His and Jethro's touches had made her more aroused than she had ever thought possible. When it was all said and done, she knew that in the end, it was going to happen. And what happened from there she had no idea.

One thing she was starting to believe to the bottom of her soul was that Mac was definitely going to make it an adventure.

"Wes," Mac called out to the trainer as he entered the shadowed interior of the stables and looked around with narrowed eyes. He knew he had seen the other man step in here moments ago.

Wes Bridges, the trainer, he had hired for the Thoroughbreds he raised on the farm, was a solitary person, but he was a damned good horse trainer.

"Wes!" The snicker of the horses was his only greeting for long moments.

"Mr. McCoy?" The stout little man stepped from the tack room, a frown creasing his face as he wiped his hands on a damp rag and stepped into the wide center aisle of the stables. "Can I help you, sir?"

Dark brown hair fell over his creased brow, nearly hiding his matching eyes.

Everything about Wes was dark, from his hair to his sun-baked leathery skin.

"I have a buyer coming in from Kentucky in the next few days to look at Storm Wind.

He'll want you to be available in case he has any questions." Wes had a bad habit of disappearing whenever buyers arrived.

"I'll have her ready." Wes shifted nervously as he usually did whenever he talked to anyone other than the horses.

"Make sure you're here with her, Wes," he ordered. "Disappear on me again and we're going to have words."

Wes blinked back at him. "I'll be here, sir."

"Good." He nodded as he stared around the neat stalls and the glossy well-cared-for animals.

Wes was a stickler for keeping the stables in perfect condition. He frowned on anyone messing around in them, even Mac.

"Is that all, sir?" Wes asked. "I was cleaning tack in the back room, if you don't need anything else."

"That should be all." Mac nodded shortly as he stepped over to the stall that held his favorite mare and rubbed her neck gently.

Grace had been his first buy, and her first foal had made him a mint. She was graceful, fast as the wind, and as graceful as her name implied.

"Mr. McCoy, have you noticed any strange goin'-ons around here?" Wes asked nervously as he started to turn back to the tack room.

Mac paused, his palm pressing against Grace's neck as he frowned back at the trainer.

"Such as?"

Wes scratched at his grizzled cheek. "Well, that dog of yours, Pappy?"

Mac frowned. Pappy was the farm dog, a mutt of undetermined heritage who had made the farm his home just after he and Keiley had taken up residence. Mac suspected there was some shepherd in the rangy animal, but he couldn't be certain.

He glanced out the door of the stables to where he had seen the dog earlier. Pappy was still laying in his usual spot in the spot just outside the backyard.

Mac turned back to the trainer. "What about him?"

"Well, last coupla weeks, I've come in to find him cowerin' here in the stables. Pappy's always slept on the porch till daybreak, ain't he?"

That had to be the most Wes had ever spoken to him. But he was right; Pappy had always slept on the porch.

"An' I noticed, too, he don't like being petted like he used to. Used to let me rough him up whenever I had time. Now he shies away from me."

"I'll check him out." Mac nodded in concern. "Thanks for letting me know."

Wes shrugged. "Just missed having him trail after me sometimes."

"Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?" Mac asked him then, feeling a warning tension growing within him.

Wes paused again. "Well, Grace's stall bein' opened a time or two when I come in of the morning. Just little things that could be nothin' other than that."

Little things. Coincidences. Mac felt the hair on the back of his neck tingle.

"Is there anything missing?" he asked.

He had wondered where the stalker was now. He could be closer than Mac imagined.

Wes shook his head. "No. Nothin' missin'. Just the animals actin' a little funny and Grace's stall being unlocked. Just thought I'd ask about it."'

Wes ducked his head and shuffled his feet again.

"I'll check Grace's stall of the evenings before I go in." Mac nodded. "Let me know if you notice anything else."

"I'll do that." Wes nodded. "Gonna go clean the tack now."

Mac frowned as he stared around the stables. Turning back to Grace, he let his gaze go over her carefully, looking for any signs of injury or distress.

She snuffled and nudged his arm for attention, but nothing seemed out of the way.

Patting the horse's neck in farewell, Mac checked the lock on the stall before heading outside to the dog basking in the sun. But too many coincidences were suddenly beginning to add up.

Pappy seemed well, eager for attention and as playful as always. Mac stared back at the stables, though, as he petted the animal, wondering if they were being watched now.

Wes was a strange little person on a good day, but he had never seemed paranoid or forgetful in making certain the latches on the stall doors were secured.

With Keiley's lost comb earlier in the week, the rumors of a ménage no one should know about, and now this, he was starting to slip back into agent mode. And he didn't like that. It had taken nearly two years for him to shake free of the almost paranoid suspicions that came with his job at the Bureau. But was it paranoia, or were he and Keiley being targeted?

"Come on, boy, we'll find you a treat." Mac patted the dog one last time before he moved through the gate and headed to the house, the dog trotting happily at his heels.

Stepping through the backdoor, Mac pulled one of the store-bought dog bones Keiley kept on hand for the dog from a shelf and

tossed it out to Pappy. He loped happily away, the smoked meat bone clutched possessively in his mouth.

As he closed the door, he could hear the drone of the Harley in the front drive and grunted at the time. Jethro was back well before midnight. Mac was surprised. He had expected to have to collect Jethro, not to mention a mangled Harley. It wouldn't be the first time he had done so. Jethro. had totaled his own ride four years ago, and Mac had sworn he would never allow his friend on his own Harley.

Moving through the house, he met Jethro as he entered the front door.

"Your key, my friend." Jethro tossed him the key and a rakish smile. "That's quite a little town you have. Lots and lots of scenery, if you don't mind my saying so."

"I don't mind in the least." Mac pocketed the key as he motioned Jethro back to his office.

He could hear Keiley back upstairs, the sound of the vacuum cleaner droning down the stairs.

"Were you able to find out anything?"

"Only that Delia Staten hates Keiley with a passion that most women reserve for loving men," Jethro grunted. "She has a hard-on for your marriage, Mac. That's a dangerous thing."

"I already figured that one out, Jethro."

"Well, figure this one out. What little bit I was able to charm from a few of the ladies I talked to in town, it seems Delia Staten is the one spreading the rumor that we're sharing your pretty wife. But no one knows how she found out I was here so quickly."

"One of the farmhands, no doubt." Mac grimaced, trying to push suspicion aside.

"There's not a whole hell of a lot that you can keep secret here. For Keiley's sake, I had hoped to keep this a secret, though."

Mac raked his fingers through his hair as he paced to the wide window and stared out at the stables. Wes was still down there, closing up the stables for the night, making certain the horses were comfortable before he left. Suspicion hell.

"How did she hit upon the truth, though?" Mac murmured. "I told Keiley it was coincidence, but that doesn't sit well in my gut, Jethro. She knows something she shouldn't know."

Jethro shrugged easily. "She could have friends in Virginia. It's a small world now, Mac."

"Then the rumors would have begun sooner. As you said, Delia has a hard-on for my marriage."

"What do you want to do? I could take a room in town—"