Love After All (29 page)

He got up quickly and looked around. Calling out to her, he discovered she wasn't in the guest bedroom, on the second floor or in the house. He went back upstairs, grabbed a quick shower, dressed and went back downstairs. As soon as he entered the kitchen a second time he noticed that the sliding glass door was unlocked and the gate at the top of the steps leading down to the beach was slightly open.

He walked out on the deck and looked around. The sky was overcast, with gentle rays of morning sun beaming against the dust of dawn as it faded beyond the horizon. A warm breeze blew readily across the sand, stirring the last remnants of the night before. The beach was nearly empty, only a few people out this time of morning. Looking down at the beach and across to the water's edge, he spotted her immediately and was instantly aroused by the sight.

She was dressed in low-cropped-cut shorts that exposed the flat firmness of her stomach and the sweetheart roundness of her rear. The scant bikini top covering her in only two strategic places sent blood flowing straight to his groin, stirring renewed passion inside him. He smiled, thinking of the numerous things he could do as memories of their intimacy just hours earlier still burned hot.

Sexually they were perfection. He yearned for her in ways he never knew possible, and the intensity of his hunger seemed unquenchable. The slightest touch of her hand or a brief glance from her sent his body surging. The simple lustful fantasy that they'd started days ago had transformed into something stronger, and the fierce power of the renewed desire scared him. She had gotten to him and he had willfully opened his heart to her.

The physical was mind blowing, yes, to be sure, but the woman behind the body was more than he had ever hoped to find. She was smart and savvy, with an intoxicating mix of brains and sensuality that kept him wanting more.

With a box in one hand and sandals in the other she danced playfully against the water's edge. Just as Jackson moved to join her he watched as a man came running up to her, turning her attention to him.

Concern hit him but caution stilled him.

The man's back was to him, so his identity wasn't clear, but he could see the hardened glare in her eyes.

He wasn't sure what he was witnessing but it was obvious that they weren't strangers. Their body language showed an intimate familiarity as they pulled close in what looked like a conspirators' promise. The stray shreds of doubt that had played with Jackson from time to time solidified into real apprehension. The idea that something else was going on sent a spike into his heart.

He knew that Samantha was the consummate artist, showing only what she wanted him to see and know and nothing more. But now, somehow more real, the doubts resurfaced as he watched. The stranger talked and she apparently listened. When she began to walk away, the man reached out and grabbed her arm, drawing her back against his body. Jackson tensed, unconsciously making a move toward the gate leading to the steps down to the beach, then to her.

As he opened the gate he watched as she jerked back and twisted upward, freeing her arm and pulling him off guard. Nearly falling off balance, the man stumbled back, fell to his knees, then regained control. The simple act gave Jackson the hope of trust. He watched as she stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest, appearing to mentally close off all interest. The man moved in closer. Samantha stood her ground. His gestures widened with added animation, and whatever he was saying gave her pause. With full attention, she listened.

Although Jackson had no idea who the man was, he suspected that it was Eric. Her aloof body language revealed her disinterest, yet she stayed and listened. Jackson grimaced. The small voice in his head cautioned. There was more to this than he knew.

Finally their conversation seemed to be over.

Samantha backed away slowly, turned and headed back toward the house, her head down, unassumingly distracted. He, the man on the beach, stood staring as she walked away. Then he glanced up, and saw Jackson on the deck for the first time. Their eyes held across the distance as Samantha unknowingly walked between them.

A knowing challenge had been met. The man stood staring a moment longer, then backed up, lighting another cigarette. Tossing the match, he slowly, eventually, turned and walked away. With one glance back he began trotting, then running full speed.

Samantha approached, her head still down, buried in thought. She climbed the wooden steps and opened the top gate stepping onto the deck and seeing Jackson standing there for the first time. Beguiling as usual, she smiled, betraying nothing. He realized at that moment that he was being played.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice seductively low, with a sweet-as-sugar innocent expression.

“Good morning,” Jackson answered firmly.

Samantha looked him up and down, smiling. “You look great,” she said playfully. Always perfectly neat in either a tailored business suit or casual slacks and polo shirt, this morning he was casually unkempt. Faded tight jeans and a gleaming white shirt, completely unbuttoned, with rolled-up sleeves, gave him a daring, debonair look of suave mischief. She liked it.

“So do you,” he responded truthfully. She smiled appreciatively. “Where'd you go?” he asked.

“For a walk.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

She nodded. “Down to the café on the pier.”

“That's quite a walk.”

“It wasn't too bad. I picked up some chocolate croissants and powdered beignets. But you're in charge of making coffee. I'm lousy at it. I have been told that I make the worst coffee in the world, somewhere between Ellie Mae Clampett and Lisa Douglas.”

“Somehow I doubt that you're incapable of anything.”

“You'd be surprised,” she said, smiling.

“Would I?” he asked as the fire in his eyes burned.

She looked at him curiously. “Are you okay?” she asked, questioning his aloof manner. “You seem, I don't know, kind of different this morning.”

“You think so?” he asked.

She nodded, then placed the stringed box on the glass table and undid the sturdy bow. As she opened the box she inhaled deeply. “Mmm, I think they're still warm,” she picked at a piece of chocolate croissant, pulling the soft flaky dough easily apart. She bit into it, then after licking her finger turned and saw him standing there staring at her. “You want some of this?” she offered suggestively.

Jackson's mouth was too dry to answer as the anger of her obvious betrayal seethed to a low boil. He grabbed her waist and drew her hard against his body, connecting intimately through jeans and shorts. He gazed into her eyes. A fathomless stare searched for confirmation of her betrayal, deceit or guilt, but found none.

The smoldering heat between them quickly escalated as the joys of previous encounters pressed hard into their thoughts. He held her there in silent anticipation. Then he kissed her hard and long. Tongues playfully, lustfully, joyfully intertwined and devoured.

He backed her up against the railing and she pressed into him as they stood in the open for all to see, a passion full grown, a desire beyond boldness. Her breasts scarcely covered pressed hard against his bare chest as her arms encircled his neck, holding firm. His hands dropped to her rear, lifting, and she rose up against him as he held her firmly in place. She wrapped her legs around his waist as she tucked herself protectively within the openness of his shirt.

He slipped his hand between their bodies. Her nipples instantly hardened. Within seconds her bikini top fell to the wooden floor as the intimacy of the position intensified.

His kisses hardened as he held her tighter, trying desperately to suffocate the pain in his heart. She held on tight, matching passion with passion, feeling herself being completely swept away by their seduction. He kissed her neck, her shoulder and her chest.

“Are you sure you're okay?” she asked again, breathlessly, through his onslaught of vigorous kisses feeling the strong-willed uninhibited power of his passion.

He didn't respond. With intensity he kissed her mouth again. The consuming need to punish her betrayal forced control. He was hurt and his pride was wounded. How could she betray his trust? The power of his will continued, but behind that the compulsion to love her began to surge.

“Jackson,” she stammered. The near-blind excitement of his actions and the relentless onslaught of his passion persisted full force. “Jackson,” she repeated louder. “Jackson.” The concerned hesitation in her voice finally seeped into him.

Then without warning he stopped, the kisses ended. Breathless, she rested her head on his shoulder as he closed his eyes and looked down. He released her, letting her flow effortlessly down the front of his body. “Jackson, what is it? What's wrong?” she asked.

He opened his eyes, looked at her pink toes, then looked away again, shamed by his actions. He removed his shirt and wrapped it around her, shaking his head as remorse took him. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

She slipped her arms through the sleeves of his shirt and placed her hands on his cheek and smiled. “For what?” she asked, looking up to see his face.

He licked his lips. She tasted like chocolate. Then Samantha, still holding the piece of croissant between her fingers, offered it to him. Jackson opened his mouth and she gently placed it on his tongue. He chewed, savoring the melted thick chocolate and warm doughy treat.

“Who are you exactly, Samantha Lee Taylor?” he asked in a faded whisper.

She looked him straight in the eye and with unwavering love smiled and answered honestly, “For the time being, I'm yours, Jackson, Jackson Daley.”

“I like that answer,” he said.

“Me, too.” She smiled happily. “Are you okay?”

He nodded.

“Are we okay?”

He nodded again.

“Good, you do the coffee thing while I wash up. I'm all sandy from the walk,” she quickly kissed his cheek, grabbed the bakery box and hurried inside.

Jackson stood watching her go, then turned back to the ocean view. He looked out at nothing in particular, then held his head low. His actions were unforgivable, he knew that. And had he not exerted restraint…He paused as a sorrowful pain gripped his heart, and the thought made him shudder. What was he doing? Being with Samantha was like playing with fire. He had no idea if or when he'd get burnt.

The phone rang. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed it on the second ring.

“Trust can be a curious thing,” the man said.

“Who is this?” Jackson asked.

“Inspector Lincoln,” he said.

“What do you want?” Jackson asked, skipping the pleasantries as she stepped back out onto the deck.

“Has Ms. Taylor figured out the code yet?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Perhaps she just hasn't bothered to tell you.”

Jackson didn't respond. “At any rate, when you're ready, I'll have Mr. Hamilton's computer available. All you have to do is use the information and get the files you need.”

“Yeah,” Jackson said.

“I want to caution you. Don't be fooled by Ms. Taylor's air of dainty femininity. She's attractive and seductive indeed—just remember that she is her father's daughter, cunning and calculating. Can the fruit truly fall far from the tree? She will use you as a means to an end. Giving her body to you is all part of the process.”

Jackson turned, looking around and realizing that Lincoln had to be near and must have observed their open embrace.

“No need looking around now, Mr. Daley,” Lincoln continued. “Her partner is long gone.”

“Eric?”

“Who else? But I'm sure that you suspected as much. You watched her talking with him on the beach moments ago, didn't you? Did she perhaps enlighten you, perchance mention their little tête-à-tête, include you in their plans possibly?” He paused, giving Jackson a moment to consider the question. “Of course not,” Lincoln finally concluded. “That's because they're playing you for a fool.”

“And I'm supposed to trust you?”

“As I said earlier, trust is a curious thing. At times we find ourselves collaborating with the most unlikely of comrades to get what we want.”

“And who are you collaborating with?” Jackson asked.

“Justice,” Lincoln said simply and hung up.

Jackson placed the phone on the outside table and looked through the sliding glass door. He could see the bakery box sitting on the kitchen table exactly where Samantha had placed it.

He leaned back against the railing. Doubt had begun to creep in again. He knew that he couldn't trust Lincoln, but now he questioned whether or not he could trust Samantha. Seeing her with Eric dissuaded no fears. Eric planned to con his father and help Cooperman take control of his company.

What was Samantha's part? Confuse him, distract him, seduce him? All three had been done efficiently and completely.

Lincoln was right about one thing—trust was a curious thing. He picked up the phone and called his father's office, agreeing to meet. They needed to talk. It was time to clear the air and end this.