Tainted Hearts (10 page)

“Treated?” She laughed. “There aren’t too
many people that would consider me a treat. And I think you’ve
stolen more than just a glimpse.”

“I intend to steal a whole lot more before
this night is through.”

Images swirled through Tuesday’s mind, a
sensual blending of memory and fantasy. She knew this man, had
spent endless hours escaping reality in his arms, and yet he was a
stranger. His enhanced features masked her lover, separated her
from the man of her dreams.

But his voice remained the same.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

“Tuesday.”

She watched his lips, focused on the deep
rumble of his voice.

It wasn’t enough.

Warmth shone in his vivid teal gaze, but she
longed for the common chocolate brown she’d seen so often in her
fantasies. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Expecting him to reach for her, to initiate
the intimacies promised by his expression, her heart leapt in
protest when he turned and walked away. She closed her eyes and
caught her bottom lip between her teeth, damning her hesitation,
the fear that kept her from reaching out…for what? What did she
hope to find in the arms of a man like Marc Sinclair?

The moody wail of a muted trumpet floated
over an electric guitar’s bluesy chords. Her eyelids fluttered open
and she found Marc standing next to a row of electronic components
neatly recessed in the wall.

His mouth bowed, his bright eyes watched her
from behind partially lowered lashes. “No one’s here to see if you
tromp all over my feet.” His teasing smile broadened. “Dance with
me.”

That night came back as he crossed the
floor. It was the first time she’d been in the same room with him.
Debonair and devastating in his black tuxedo, he’d partnered one
beautiful woman after another. She’d never dreamed he’d work his
way around to her.

His warm hand closed around hers. She felt
the light pressure of his palm against the small of her back. The
music swirled and swayed, providing the perfect rhythm for the
slow, sliding steps through which he led her. Heat emanated from
his body, drawing her nearer, making her long for more intimate
touches, more significant contact.

“Wrap your arms around my neck.” His soft
tone whispered across her nerve endings, making her insides
quiver.

She hesitated. Did she want to sleep with
him? That was where all this led. She couldn’t deny her attraction
to him. He’d fascinated her for years. She respected his brilliance
and envied his boldness. She had to work so hard at being tough.
Could she really bare herself to this man and do the things Leo had
expected her to do? Required her to do?

Tension wrapped around her, coiled through
her. She looked away, searching for a way to make him
understand.

He placed her hand on his shoulder then drew
her into a light embrace, his arms encircling her waist. “Tell me
about him.”

“What do you mean?”

He chuckled. “Tell me about the man who left
you with this warped idea of your appeal.”

Pressing her lips together, she tried not to
think about Leo, tried to pretend none of it had happened. “It was
a long time ago.”

“That’s a start but hardly enough
information to help me understand.”

They weren’t really dancing anymore, just
pressing against each other and swaying in time to the music. “I
lose interest in the subject quickly, so make your questions
count.” She paraphrased his words about his wife.

“Fair enough. Was he your first lover?”

He got right to the point. Well, she’d told
him to make his questions count. “No.”

“Your most recent?”

“Yes.” She finally wrapped her arms around
his neck but only to hide her face against his chest.

“Did he hurt you?”

“There are many ways to hurt someone,” she
pointed out, her voice muffled against his shirt. “He never hit
me.”

Easing her back, he framed her face with his
hands. “I’m sorry. Nothing in your dossier indicated—”

“My dossier?” The pleasant illusion
shattered and he was Marc, her kidnapper, again. “How long have you
been planning this? Is my home under surveillance or just my
office?”

He lowered his hands. His tense expression
told her everything she needed to know. He’d invaded her privacy in
ways she didn’t want to think about.

“You keep saying I’m not what you expected.
Apparently you should have known exactly what to expect. I’ve
agreed to your conditions, now I expect to be left alone!” She
headed for the guest bedroom, praying the door locked.

“Tuesday!”

She didn’t look back.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Marc sat behind
the control console in the attic booth. It was better this way.
Despite his body’s eagerness to compromise his integrity, he no
longer had a reason to seduce Tuesday. The negotiation was
complete. Elise would have a new heart.

Desire still sizzled in his blood, even as
guilt washed over his soul. Tuesday didn’t deserve the fear he’d
forced on her or his aggressive seduction. She needed someone who
would appreciate her, someone who had no ulterior motives. She’d
just felt so damn right in his arms. The passion simmering within
her drew and challenged him. He wanted to dismantle her emotional
barricade and watch her flourish. Using a deep breath to clear his
mind and calm his body, he pushed the feelings aside. It didn’t
matter. He couldn’t let it matter. She wasn’t here for him.

He activated surveillance in his daughter’s
bedroom. The screen to the right of her image displayed her vital
signs. Tiny, fragile, precious, she was resting peacefully.

“Hold on, baby. We’re almost there.”

He accessed his message queue and found a
text transmission from Phil Carey. It was after midnight but Phil
had marked the message urgent.

It took several minutes for Phil to respond
to the audio page. “I tried you earlier.” His voice sounded terse,
annoyed. “Why didn’t you answer your vidcom?”

I was too busy trying to seduce my
hostage.
“You didn’t activate a general page. I hear that
anywhere in the house.”

“I had a suspicion you might not be
alone.”

Damn, was the man physic? “What gave you
that impression and more importantly, what did you need?”

“I have the information you requested but
why have you been holding out on me?”

Marc debated what to say. If the kidnapping
had gone wrong he hadn’t wanted Phil involved. No, it was more than
that. He’d been afraid Phil would talk him out of his rash
plan.

“What did you learn from our contact?” he
evaded. When push came to shove Phil worked for him.

“Your instincts were right on the mark.
Let’s just say you and our prime suspect had similar plans for the
female in question.”

Marc’s heart lurched and his stomach
knotted. Phil had announced it so casually. “If she weren’t with me
now, she’d be in the Tower of Babel. Is that what you’re telling
me?”

“Affirmative. Our contact was sent to fetch
her. You just beat him to the finish line.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “Then our contact is in
serious trouble. Those who fail the prime suspect have a habit of
disappearing.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, my friend.
What would you like me to do?”

Marc raked his hair with both hands, locking
his fingers behind his head. There had to be a way out of this mess
without endangering Elijah or Tuesday.

“What was your objective, if you don’t mind
my asking?” There was quiet demand in Phil’s tone.

“My visitor has access to something no one
else will let me near.”

“A gift for a child perhaps?”

“Exactly.”

“And was your mission successful?”

“It sounds like I opened Pandora’s Box in
the process, but yes, the child will finally have her gift.”

Anger and isolation pelted Tuesday’s mind,
eroding her defenses and exposing her vulnerabilities. She punched
the pillow and drew the covers to her chin, rolling onto her side.
Marc was probably up in his spy booth watching every move she made,
waiting for a reason to knock on the bedroom door, an excuse to…
Wishful thinking?

God, she was such an ass. He had no reason
to seduce her now. She’d given in without a fight. Well, not
without a fight, but she was defeated nonetheless.

Elise would get her heart and life would
return to normal. She punched the pillow again. Why was the thought
so damn depressing? Her life had purpose. She found fulfillment in
her work and enjoyed her close circle of friends.

She snorted into the darkness and rolled
onto her back, draping her forearm over her eyes. Who was she
kidding? Her close circle of friends consisted of her boss and her
imaginary lover.

Unwanted heat unfurled within her belly,
mocking her determination to ignore her desire. Her nipples tingled
and an all too familiar throbbing erupted in her feminine core. All
she had to do was say his name. She knew he was watching her.

I can fulfill sexual fantasies you haven’t
dared to dream—yet.

Pride alone kept her from giving in. She’d
surrendered too much already. Her fertile imagination had gotten
her through many lonely nights. This was no different. She
concentrated on her breathing and meticulously recreated the night
of the Foundation gala.

She’d worn a dress of emerald green, the
formfitting bodice showcasing her breasts while the flowing skirt
disguised her less attractive curves. For once in her life she’d
felt beautiful. She sipped Champagne and smiled flirtatiously, then
Mr. Sinclair had asked her to dance.

She could remember every nuance of his face,
the warmth of his dark eyes. Instead of turning him down, she
accepted his invitation, immersing herself completely in the
fantasy.

They danced through her mind, his strong
arms holding her close, his smile for her alone. “May I say you
look particularly lovely tonight?”

She smiled, pleased by the fantasy. “You
may.” Her voice sounded steady and calm. Her movements were
graceful.

“I’ve been watching you all evening,
imagining how you’d feel in my arms.”

“Have you now?” She glanced away from his
handsome face as desire heated her skin and sped her heart rate.
“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“How do you feel about this?” His arms
tightened, pressing her against his chest and his mouth covered
hers. She no longer needed to imagine how it would feel to have his
lips slide against hers and his tongue sink into her mouth. She had
only to remember the slick heat and his evocative taste.

She shifted restlessly, covering her eyes
with her other arm. The ballroom faded into a smoky haze of surreal
impressions. She felt his arms, his chest, his mouth devouring her
lips, but everything else ceased to exist.

“Let me touch you, Tuesday. Let me make love
to you.” He lifted her to a smooth, solid surface and immediately
stepped between her legs. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

They kissed and kissed as his hands stroked
her arms, her shoulders and her back. She sifted his hair through
her fingers, wishing they had more time, that they could undress
and do this properly.

He unfastened her gown and lowered the
bodice to her waist, the thin straps trapping her arms. Palming one
breast, he bent over the other and circled her nipple with his
tongue. She arched her back, urging him on, needing the firm
suction of his mouth drawing on her tender flesh. His lips parted.
His teeth nipped. She trembled, both in the fantasy and in the
cold, lonely bed.

One of his hands sneaked beneath her skirt
and rested for a moment on her thigh. The tension inside her
mounted. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. If she touched
herself, he’d interpret it as a challenge, and this was just making
her ache for the real thing.

“You son of a bitch,” she sobbed and rolled
back to her side, clutching a pillow to her sensitive breasts. She
squeezed her eyes shut and waited in vain for sleep to claim
her.

Tuesday emerged from the guest bedroom
sullen and fatigued the following morning. Her captor looked no
better, which amused her greatly. Dark rings shadowed his eyes and
stubble darkened his jaw. Well, he deserved a sleepless night and a
whole lot more.

“I made coffee. Breakfast will have to wait
until we return. I’m anxious to get back.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” she said.
His brow arched as if he would argue the point, but the door buzzer
preempted his reply. “Do you often have visitors up here?”

“Not unless they’ve leased the lodge. It’s
not hunting season.” He disappeared into his bedroom for a moment
and returned with his vidcom clipped to his belt and a pistol in
his hand.

“There was a gun in the nightstand?” She
shook her head in disbelief. “Some hostage I turned out to be.”

The buzzer sounded again.

Marc triggered the monitor beside the door.
“It’s Bettencourt,” he explained with a muttered curse.

“Bettencourt?” She hurried to see for
herself. Flanked by his four lackeys, the general waited on the
front porch. “How did he find us? Wait, do you know Bettencourt or
has he somehow learned I’m here?”

“I don’t think he knows me from Adam.”

The general rang again, repeatedly.

“Should we let him in?”

“One step at a time.” Marc pressed one
corner of the monitor. “May I help you?”

“Open the door, Sinclair. This doesn’t have
to be ugly.”

Marc smirked at the screen. Apparently video
was only activated on their end. “It’s guaranteed to be ugly if
this goon is involved.” Pushing the control again, he said, “What’s
the nature of your business…I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“This is the last time I ask nicely. My next
signal will bring Special Forces crashing through your windows and
the Army isn’t responsible for property damaged during hostile
raids.”