Saffron Nights (11 page)

M
aeve and Jackson sat together in the private library of the villa while Giovanni was in and out of the room. He had a drink with them and then left them to their work.

Sitting near a window, Maeve was bathed in the orange glow of the fading sun. Jackson watched as the light played off her skin. From where he was sitting, a side view of her breast kept him happily occupied. She had just taken a shower. Her hair was still damp, and she smelled like coconut or flowers or something. Whatever it was, he liked it.

His mind circled around the caftan she was wearing. He was almost certain she had nothing underneath it. When she walked in the room, her breasts jiggled slightly in a most unsettling manner. Okay, she had no bra on—but what about panties? As his eyes lingered on her breasts, his mind’s eye envisioned the night he had begun to pull off her underwear. The night he had been so close to having her.

But then she had punched him the very next day, didn’t she?

His camera went to his eye—she’d never know. Click.

Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?

Jackson’s cell phone buzzed, abruptly interrupting his pleasant thoughts.

“Jackson Dodds.”

“Alice has passed away,” Sherri said.

“What?” Jackson wasn’t sure if what he heard was correct.

“She’s dead,” Sherri said more clearly into the phone.

“Whoa,” he said, heart racing. “What happened?”

Maeve was writing on her laptop. He had just discreetly taken her picture. She liked to write as soon as possible after the experience so she could remember as many details as possible. This place was their favorite common room in the villa—they gathered there each evening after dinner and worked as they drank wine. Her head lifted at Jackson’s tone of voice. She turned to look at him.

“I, ah, don’t know what to say,” Sherri said. “She’d been dead for several days when she was found. We’re still not certain what the cause of death is. “

“Jesus!” Jackson said. “Man! What next?”

Maeve was next to him, her fingers tapping on the shiny walnut table.

“Calm down, Jackson. Another agent here will take you on. Just proceed with all of your plans. I know it’s a shock.”

“What about the service?” he asked, but he was thinking about the last conversation he had with Alice. She warned him to stick to the itinerary in Hong Kong. They hadn’t—and look what had happened. She also told him not to tell Maeve that Chef’s murderer probably knew him, knew he was allergic to that particular mushroom.

Maeve’s eyebrows knitted as she gestured with her hands. He held up a finger.

“Will let you know. For the time being, e-mail me at my address. We can’t figure out any of her passwords and so things are pretty screwed up. I’m looking at her desk calendar and you two seem to be on schedule. Correct?”

“Yes, well, there have been a few minor delays.”

“Well, everything okay now?”

“Yes.”

“And the photos of the truffles will get to the publishers?”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

When Jackson clicked his cell phone shut, he took a deep breath. “Sit down, Maeve.”

He gestured to the big leather chair next to the roaring fire in the fireplace.

“I’m not sitting down. What is it? You look terrified,” she said.

Okay, have it your way.
“It’s Alice. She’s dead.”

Maeve clutched her chest. “What? Our Alice? Dead?”

Jackson nodded and flopped down on the nearest couch. Red velvet, sofa, stuffy, but comfortable. Maeve stood, as if frozen.

“Are you okay?”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No. I’m not okay. Jackson, that makes two people associated with us who have died within a month of one another. I am scared shitless.”

“Well,” he said after a minute. “We’re safe here. Nothing has happened since we’ve been here.”

“Yes, but we are scheduled to go to India. God knows what can happen there.”

She sat down gingerly beside him on the edge of the red velvet sofa. She stared off into her own thoughts and then sank beside him. Her face suddenly found its way to his shoulder. His arms slipped around her as she began to cry.

She pulled away momentarily. “If I knew what these people wanted, I’d give it to them just so they’d leave us alone. Do they want the book? What is it? Alice doesn’t have the book. We do. Poor Alice.”

“Look,” he said. “Alice was older. I mean neither one of us know what kind of health she was in, right? It could just be a coincidence.”

Jackson looked at her—such a devastatingly fearful look blanketed her face and it him made want to protect her, once again. He cleared his throat. Ah, Maeve didn’t need to be protected, he reminded himself. At least not physically. But emotionally? It seemed she had been dealing with one loss right after the other since he had known her.

Oh, he needed to touch her face.

He lifted her chin, her cheeks wet with tears, and kissed her, softly. A shock of heat spun through him. She was . . . she was . . . he didn’t have the word. A shard of light, of heat. How she was making him feel alive, every pore in his body filled, tightened, tingled, popped. He wanted to wrap her into himself, lie her down, drink her in, feel her writhe beneath him. Come what may. This he wanted. He no longer could deny it. Even if Maeve denied him, he had to try. And the rest of the world?

Fuck them. Alice was dead. She wasn’t there to wag her finger.

Maeve pulled away from him and looked at him with a smoldering confused lust. They hadn’t had any durian, ginseng, mushrooms, truffles, or wine. Yet, she leaned into him, kissed him back, with a firm, but yielding kiss. He felt his blood rush between his legs. He was . . . powerless. This was in her hands.

She led him to the cushions in front of the fire. He was already slipping out of his shirt. She leaned back, her hair spread across a gold shimmering pillow, and pulled him to her.

The room stilled in anticipation.

They locked eyes.

“Maeve, stop me. I am going to ravage you, if you don’t stop me, now.” His voice was a rasp now, his face twitching slightly.

“Ravage me?” she managed to say, thinking he had no idea what he was unleashing. She was the ravager.

“It will change everything between us,” he said, then bit his lip.

She touched his unshaven face tenderly and whispered. “It will change nothing.”
I have you here and I’m not letting you go. You are not the man I thought you were. You are so much more.

She pulled him down to meet her, lifting her loose caftan over her head in one swift movement. No need for modesty here and now. Not between them. Skin to skin. Heat to heat. Him in the firelight. The light playing against his glistening skin. His blue eyes glowing with want. And she already slick with wanting—the need in her had been building too long. He pulled away from her and sat up.

“Ach, Maeve, just let me look at you for a minute,” he breathed. “You are fucking . . . I don’t know . . . gorgeous. It doesn’t even seem the best word.”

Maeve loved the look of want on his face. Pure lust. Tempered by what? Fear? Awe?

His hands slid on her thighs as he sat there, naked, hard, and proud.
Christ, when did he take his pants off? How did I miss that?
So long and thick with that round head glistening, swerving off to the side just a bit. She touched the tip and it responded as Jackson drew in a breath.

He reached for her, trailed his fingers up the center of her, oh, oh, oh—

“So . . . wet . . .” he said.

Goddamn it, she wanted none of this foreplay. She was seized by the need just to have him inside her, needed to take the matter into her own hands.

Maeve sat up, pressed herself to him, and wrapped her legs around him. “Shut up, Jackson, and fuck me.”

He drew a breath. “I know better than to argue with you,” he said.

And she gently grabbed on to him and slid him into herself—already heated and ready. She savored this moment—the moment of piercing entry. She sat still, feeling the inside of her wrap itself around him, as her legs tightened around him. His thick lips. His tongue, his breath.

He sighed, deeply. “Maeve . . . you . . . feel . . . so good.”

She arched her back, her hair tangled in his hands as it draped over her shoulder and back, and he went deeper, tugging at her hair, slightly. Finally she moved on him—they found their rhythm. No game playing. No foreplay. Just fucking. That’s what she wanted.

Where did he begin and she end? Where was she? Where was he?

He was under her—watching him feeling her, all hands, mouth, tongue, and cock, hitting against the very end of her. With each thrust, she felt herself opening more, moving quicker against him. She felt an intense tingling pulled from deep inside and finally the delicious unraveling and she screamed in pure relief—wave after wave.

They collapsed together on the pillow, she still astride him, lying draped over him, almost unconscious.

“Maeve,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

He reached over and touched her cheek, pulled back his hand—it was wet with tears. It was then she realized she had been crying.

“I don’t know what to say . . .” she said.

“This is weird, right?” he smiled.

She nodded.

“But—”

“Ssh—” she placed her fingers to his lips. “Let’s not analyze it. It is what it is.”

He smiled, then kissed her, long, deep, tender, sending the center of her into a muddled heat. Bur her head was still clear.

 

They were abruptly awakened from their reverie with a knock at the library door. They gathered and slipped their clothes on quickly.

“Just a minute,” Maeve said.

After they were put together, Jackson unlocked the door.

“Sorry to interrupt your work,” Giovanni said, as he walked in the room.

If he only knew.

“There is a man here to see you, Maeve.”

“What?” she said, standing from her warmed spot on the velvet couch. “Me?”

“Hello, love,” Mark said as he entered the room. “Surprised to see me?”

Great
.

T
he blood rushed to Jackson’s face as he stood to shake Mark’s hand. Maeve had never seen him blush. Was that steam coming out of his ears? She smiled.

“What are you doing here?” Maeve managed to say in the midst of the turmoil of his bags being brought in. She rushed to politely hug him.

“Well, I heard the news about Alice—”

“Strange. What? We’ve only just heard ourselves.”

“It’s all over the papers and the Internet, darling,” Mark said wrapping his arm around her and leading her to the couch. “I immediately contacted your publisher to see where you were. I have a few days and wanted to check on you. This must be devastating.”

Jackson rolled his eyes and plopped into a chair, deciding instead to make a pain of himself. “What have you heard, Mark? We are pretty much in the dark.”

“Darling, you look dreadful,” Mark said, stroking her hair, ignoring Jackson, “You’ve lost weight. Your color is off . . .”

“Christ, we just learned about Alice. Do you expect her to be a beauty queen, dude?”

Maeve was dumbfounded. Mark. Here. She hadn’t given him much thought. Now, Jackson sat in the chair next to the pile of pillows on the floor where they had just been together. “Um, Mark?”

“Oh yes, I’m so sorry. I’m just concerned about you. Are you eating?”

She nodded. “Of course, I’m eating. But we’ve had some problems, Mark. I’m not sure you should be here.”

“What? I can’t surprise my girlfriend?”

She cocked her head and one eyebrow rose. “I’m not your girlfriend. We talked about this.”

He shifted on the sofa, glanced at Jackson, who was smirking. “Look, bloke, do you mind leaving us alone a bit?”

Jackson just sat there. Maeve inwardly beamed.

“It’s okay, Jackson,” Maeve finally said.

But Jackson took his good old time about leaving the room, gathering up his cameras, bag, lenses, and so on.

“Finally,” Mark said, grabbing her, kissing her passionately, leaving her cold.

“Mark, I—”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just not into it. I’m sorry. I’ve been working really hard and now this news of Alice’s death and Jackson—”

“Jackson? Oh, I see. He’s moved in on you. Are you fucking him?” he said. His face angry red; lips a thin, strained line.

Maeve felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. Here was her perfect lover of three years. The one who only wanted to sleep with her and not own her, suddenly jealous. Anger welled up in her throat.

She balled her fists up and sat them in her lap.
The good doctor would be proud
. “As if it’s any of your business. We are not exclusive. That is our arrangement.”

“Yes,” he said, calming down. “But as I said on the phone, I want us to be a real couple. What do you think?”

“Mark. I’ve loved our time together, but I just don’t want to be a part of a couple. I like my freedom. You know that.”

She heard herself saying those words. The same words she said many times over the years. But they felt like a lie this time.

“So, you just want to be lovers, as usual?” he said with his hand on her thigh.

There are times in every woman’s life when a knowing sweeps over her, when all the years of careless lovemaking, of childish flirtations, come to a stop. A time comes to look deeper. To not play with emotions. To not play with another person’s feelings. The time comes to learn and to practice being cruel with kindness. It’s the path of honesty.

She remembered when Mark’s touch sent her into mad wild lustful longings. But no more. His talk of exclusivity frightened her and turned her off. Right now, she was wading through grief and fear for her life, for Jackson’s life, and she simply was not interested in this man any longer.

“I don’t think so Mark.”

“I just think you’re overwrought. You’re obviously not yourself, Maeve. You can’t mean that,” he said frowning, placing his arm around her on the back of the sofa.

“Yes,” she said calmly. “Right now, this very moment, I can tell you I’m not interested in any kind of physical relationship with you.”

“I don’t understand. You and me, we’ve always had such a good time together.”

“Yes, we have. But you know, things change,” she said. “I really wish you’d have called or e-mailed or something because I could have saved you the trip.”

“Well, I wanted to surprise you . . . when I read about Alice . . .” he said and shrugged. “I don’t know how it happened, Maeve. I know you don’t really believe in it. But I’ve fallen in love with you. I hope you’ll reconsider things after you get rested.”

“Mark, can we be friends? I mean, you’re not going to make this difficult, are you?”

“Of course. I thought I was being civil about it. I mean I came all this way to comfort you—”

“You came all this way to fuck me. Let’s be clear. You’re confusing things.”

“Well, I was hoping it’d comfort you a bit, I must confess,” he said and smiled. When he did so, she felt a softening in her heart. He was devastatingly handsome. Great in bed. Intelligent. Funny. Spoiled her with lavish gifts. Was she going to be sorry for this later? She reached up and touched his face. In a split second he was all over her, pawing at her breasts, shoving his tongue almost down her throat. When she finally untangled him from her, she realized it was not a mistake. She needed him out of her life. Out of this room. Out of this house.

“I need you to go,” she said, quietly, firmly.

“Darling.”

“Don’t darling me. Just leave.”

“Where am I supposed to go? I’m in Italy, for God’s sake!”

“You’ll find a place to stay, I’m sure.”

“I’ve already called a cab for you, dude,” Jackson said, coming into the room. “Now I suggest you get your bags and leave before you’re really sorry.”

Thank God for Jackson. How strange Mark made her feel. Her stomach was queasy. Just a few months ago, she’d have done anything to sleep with him. Suddenly, he totally creeped her out. Would he have forced it if it wasn’t for Jackson?

Mark stood and buttoned his jacket and walked out of the room without uttering a word.

“Now,” Jackson said, coming back into the room. “Now he’s gone . . . where were we?”

Maeve smiled at him. “I suppose it’s impossible to resist you. Maybe I should stop trying.”

Jackson pulled her into him. His arms, scent, heat surrounded her. Could she, again?
Oh yes, she could.

Giovanni walked into the room.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But, Jackson, you wanted to get some shots of the garden when the moon is full?”

He groaned. “Did I? Well, never mind. Something’s come up.” Not taking his eyes from Maeve.

“Jackson,” she said, pulling away from him, biting her lip, obviously smoldering. “You better go and get those shots. The job comes first, right now, yes?”

“Maeve, you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he whispered.

“Oh yes, I kinda think I do. Good night.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she turned toward the stairs. She turned back around to look at him, still standing there, blue eyes glistening, slowly looking away.