When Night Falls (20 page)

Roman slowly looked at Dani, and when he turned back to Shelly, his lids were lowered. But there was no missing the satisfaction and pride in those gold eyes, that slight pleased curve to his lips. “Uh-huh. Then I suppose you’ll have to stick around to see that I don’t. She’s pretty easy to push, maybe blackmail a little, huh? Make her worry about you, just to get what you want?”

Dani’s flush said she had known exactly what she was doing, those digs at Shelly to get her way.

Shelly couldn’t bear for Dani to be hurt. “Roman, leave us alone.”

Anger flashed and rose on the pinpoint of flame in those gold eyes, then he pivoted. His back was taut as he walked out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

“Go after him, if you want,” Dani stated tightly. “He’s sure not much and he knows exactly how to get to you. Anyone can see he thinks you’re hot—my mom, the babe.”

Shelly closed her eyes and tried to push away Dani’s bitterness. Her daughter looked miserable, just as she did when she was terribly hurt. “Tell me the worst in all this, and we’ll work through the rest.”

Dani’s mouth softened and then trembled as she dashed tears from her eyes. “Jace turned me over like I was a piece of property—he traded me, Mom, just for a few hours in a garage tuning his bike. I thought we were going to get married and—”

Shelly thought of other ways that Jace might turn Dani over—after he’d had his fill—and she was grateful to Roman for exposing the boy. “That’s the worst?” she asked, fearing that there was more.

“Yeah. I can handle the old man. I know how he thinks; you don’t.”

Dani ran her hands down her clothing, smoothing it. “I may be a virgin, but I feel gritty and used. I thought I could change Jace and make a life, you know? I thought we’d start out easy, work into something special. He’s not going to change. But there for a while, I thought I could use Roman to nudge him into—mind if I take that bath first? I’ll clean up the bathroom and run another for you, if you want—you look like you could use it.”

“Sure. Go ahead.” Dani had never offered to clean after herself, or had been very thoughtful, unless it served her purpose.

Shelly noted a shadow outside the house.
Roman had said that someone had just shot at Uma’s window during the storm, and a whole series of incidents proved that the danger in Madrid was not over
.

Heartbeats later, with a cast-iron skillet in her hand, Shelly eased outside the house, quietly closing the screen door behind her. She flattened to the wall and heard brush rustle in the backyard. The broken limb was big, and someone was moving—

Whoever the man was, he was big and powerful, trying to pull the branch away from the house where it rested. She moved closer, her skillet raised, and just then Roman turned.

His foot caught in a branch, and with a stunned expression, he tumbled backward into the deep foliage of oak leaves. A solid thud and grunt sounded, and then nothing.

“
Roman?
” Shelly tossed aside the skillet and ran to help him.

She bent into the darkness of the heavy leaves and prayed—Roman’s hand shot upward, caught her wrist, and tugged. With a cry, Shelly toppled onto him.

When she braced away, Roman held her and grinned as the branches and leaves enveloped them.

“Not funny,” she said sharply. “I thought you’d left.”

He toyed with her hair, winding her ponytail around his hand and studying it. He brought the strands to his face, closing his eyes as he inhaled the fragrance. “I moved my bike into the shadows, under the tarp where the lumber for the new flooring is. I don’t want anyone to know I’m staying here.”

“You’re not. You can’t possibly stay here.”

“It’s dangerous, babe. Give me a break. I’d feel pretty guilty if anything happened to you and I wasn’t here. I just want to stay here and know that you’re safe.” Roman sighed and stretched luxuriously beneath Shelly. “You feel good.”

“Stay here? In my house?” she asked incredulously.

“Right here.”

“Oh, no. People would talk.”

“People have always talked. The important thing is that Dani and you are safe. That’s all I want, Shell, to know that you’re safe.”

She thought back to that night when his father had died, how shattered Roman had been. “We can manage.”

“With what? A skillet? Whoever is out there is playing for real, Shell. I’ve got some experience in dealing with that; you don’t. Do you really want to know that you could have prevented something from happening to Dani and you didn’t?”

Shelly’s heart froze. “Nothing can happen to Dani. She’s everything to me.”

“I watched part of my family die once, and it’s not going to happen again, not you or Dani. It’s settled, then. I’ll bunk on the couch for a few hours at night. That scar says someone is real serious about you and they move at night.”

His voice had lowered into a seductive whisper as his body hardened beneath her. Shelly tried to push away and Roman held her, still grinning. “You look sexy in this uniform.”

He was bigger and harder than she remembered, but his smile was even more fascinating. Shelly tried to ignore the ripple of anticipation in her, that feminine urge to linger with him. But Roman was about as volatile as a flash fire and just as unpredictable. “Let me go, Roman.”

“I did once. That was a mistake. I’m not going anywhere this time.” His smile slid away into an intensity that burned. Then the caressing fingers at her nape slowly drew her down to his lips. “This won’t hurt a bit. How I’ve missed you—”

The gentle brush of his lips was a beckoning, an enticement of magic and beautiful secrets that she couldn’t resist…

A
t home, Mitchell’s big screen television and reruns of NASCAR races weren’t any substitute for needing Uma. The house moved softly around him, soothingly—if he hadn’t been thinking about Uma and Everett, and the irritating way Everett held her hand to his chest. In the bare window, where Mitchell had drawn away the sheet he’d hung there, Everett’s car slowed on its way to Uma’s and Mitchell snapped off the television. Comfortable in only jeans, he sat in the dark, ignoring the beer and the decorating magazines on the metal tray at his side. He had no right to think he had any hold on Uma, that she had any commitment to him—one night of the best sex he’d ever had was no reason he could expect another.

He’d been a powerful vice president of a national company, and he wanted to carry a damn tray of petit fours to a party more than he’d ever wanted to negotiate top money projects…

Mitchell sighed heavily. At least Uma would be safe with Everett—maybe. Mitchell would wait until later, and then go out into the night, circling the Lawrence house to see if anyone was stalking her.

Then Everett’s car prowled by in the opposite direction.
Uma was either in it with him, or she was alone—and in danger.

Mitchell sat in the dark, tensing as he heard a key rattle in the front door and the deadbolt turned, unlocking. He eased to his feet and flattened himself against the wall, next to the door. Whoever it was would think he was out for the night or asleep, and he intended to—

The intruder stepped into the doorway and Mitchell grabbed a fistful of shirt, hauling him into the room.

Delicate fabric tore and Uma’s body flattened against the wall with a solid thump.

She glared at him while he tried to absorb that the “dangerous intruder” was just a woman whose dress was torn. He held part of it in his fist; and the rest was sliding down to her waist with her bra. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Then she let the dress and her bra slide to the floor, and still glaring at him, stepped out of it. She turned and walked down the hallway to his bedroom, an erotic picture with her tapered back, mauve cotton panties on her swaying hips, those long legs, and her practical flats.

Mitchell let the torn scrap flutter to the floor. He wavered between going after her with excuses and picking up her dress, stuffing it in a bag, and waiting to see if she’d ever speak to him again. He sank into his recliner, which seemed to be the safest place in the house. Following Uma into the bedroom was definitely dangerous.

He couldn’t face Uma when she came to stand beside him, but a side glance at those long, smooth legs said she was wearing his shirt. She picked up the remote and clicked through the stations—golf, world news, how to build a bird house, NASCAR races. “Anything good on?”

“Not much,” he said as the lead car slowed with a bad tire and maneuvered into the crew pit; the crowd went wild as another car hit the side wall and ricocheted into the path of an
other, driving it off the track. But Mitchell’s heart was pounding for another reason—
Uma had come to him. She needed him
. “I’m sorry about grabbing you. I’ll get you a new dress.”

“You
bet
you will.” Uma needed Mitchell’s truth after the blistering argument with Pearl, after hurting her. She felt guilty, yet Pearl had to be stopped.

Mitchell had that closed-in look, as if he were expecting the worst. She couldn’t resist smoothing his hair…clearly he’d been running his hands through it, as it stood out in peaks. Uma noted the stack of fortune cookie paper strips piled beside his chair. “Find any answers?”

“With you, there aren’t any,” he brooded.

“That’s because I don’t know them myself. I feel like I’m being taken over. I like my independence, and I like being single, making my own decisions.”

He felt bruised and vulnerable and shielded those emotions with a brusque “So? So do I.”

“I know tonight was difficult for you and you’re upset, but don’t take it out on me.”

“I don’t know where any of this conversation is going,” he stated bluntly, needing to know if Uma had told Everett. He recognized jealousy and tried to push it away. It stayed to lurk and taunt.
Everett was perfect for her
.

Uma straightened the sheet that Mitchell had drawn away for a clear view of the street. “Why didn’t you ask me for a dance?”

Because he would have picked her up and carried her away. “You were busy. I was busy.”

“I’m sorry Pearl can be so awful. But I’m glad you came. I needed you there. I’ve just had an incident with Pearl that I may regret. She’s so fragile that anything could push her over the edge. But sometimes, she just needs—I’m glad you’re here now. I needed to see you.”

She needed him
. Hope inched a centimeter higher in
Mitchell Warren. He noted with an inner pleased smirk that she was wearing
his
rose, and not Everett’s. “Everett was there, fitting right in,” he nudged, needing to hear more.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that you couldn’t fit in if you wanted, Mr. Vice President. I’m certain you’ve done your time at dinner chit-chat, and I’m certain that when you set your mind to it, you’re very good at anything you want to do. One chooses his own path and who he wants to walk with on it. Tonight, you chose to walk alone. Lonny returned the tray, by the way, and stayed to help himself to quite a bit of food while he chatted with the guests. Pearl was not happy. One who is not happy in her own home cannot be happy within.”

In the shadows, Mitchell tried not to smile at the typical Charis Lopez notation. “Why are you here?”

“To ask you not to be so distracting when Everett is nearby. You two were glaring at each other like dogs fighting over a bone.”

Mitchell couldn’t resist running his hand over her smooth thigh. “The description doesn’t quite fit. He wants you back.”

“Mmm.”

Mitchell withdrew his hand and concentrated on that “mmm” it could mean anything.

“You could do with some furniture.” Uma eased onto the arm of his chair and took his left hand, studying the webbed fingers, smoothing them. “You said earlier that you could sense Lauren’s feelings.”

Mitchell didn’t want to explain the softness that rose in him sometimes, especially when he was working in Lauren’s garden or her kitchen. The feeling was stronger in the room that held her things, like a long, sweet aching sigh that couldn’t be heard—as if she hungered for life that would not come.

He’d never been sensitive, but the uneasiness could curl
around him, as if the shadows wanted something from him. What was that prowling inside him?

Uma slid her fingers through his, holding their hands on his lap. Her finger traced the scarred, webbed fingers of his left hand, and when Mitchell would have drawn away, she held tight. “Lauren wants peace. I want her to have that. I think she’s talking to you and you’re resisting. Tell me what she wants.”

The thought that a woman might be moving inside his mind took Mitchell to his feet. He rammed his hand through his hair and walked into the kitchen—a cozy kitchen where a woman’s love had created—he stalked past the laundry room where she had neatly folded towels and ironed tablecloths and—

He jerked open the back door and surged into the cool, sweet night, with its fragrance of roses. The storm from the previous night had swept a flurry of color onto the lush grass and lavender bed. She’d wept here, sadly acknowledging that her husband was unfaithful and that she would never have the children she wanted. The incredible sadness enclosed Mitchell tighter than rope. Lauren would have loved to have held the baby he’d delivered in the taxicab that day.

Mitchell rubbed his aching forehead; he sensed that Lauren
did
know about the baby, how just holding it had made him wonder about the “more” of life.

Lauren should have had the babies she’d wanted; she should have been able to love them and see them grow—

Women needed babies to cuddle, and Uma’s had died. The sorrow within him surprised him and clenched at his heart, an aching that Lauren would have felt for Uma. “Listen. About Lauren’s things in that room—I don’t have plans for it. Why don’t you do something with it—say, a nursery, or something she would have liked.”

Uma was quiet, and then she said, “I don’t want to deco
rate another nursery ever again. But I will try to make it into a room Lauren would love.”

Then her arms came around him from behind, her hand covering his racing heart. “She was the sweetest person, Mitchell. I wish you could have known her.”

Maybe I do
. He tossed that thought away, fearing it. “I knew her as a kid—remember, we grew up together. She was always with you and Shelly and Pearl. How the heck did you and Shelly and Lauren stay friends with Pearl all these years?”

Uma nuzzled his bare back, kissing his shoulder. “Pearl needed us. She’s been wonderful to Shelly. We’ve dug old pioneer roses from the homesteads together and with our mothers. Our mothers were in the same activities—your mother, too.”

“Leave Grace out of this.”
I’ve always loved her…go to her
, Fred had whispered as he died. Mitchell had forgotten that echo through the years, and now it was back.

When he began to move away from her, Uma linked her hands, holding him tight. “Dani wants to know her grandmother. She has that right. You should know her, too. Fred loved her.”

“You can’t make this work, Uma. Don’t try.”

“One question: Roman was driving the night your father died, and you were in the back of the pickup with Fred. Did he say anything?”

You’re all I’ve got left of her. You and Roman. I loved that woman with all my heart. Tell Grace I’ve always loved her
, his father had whispered amid his pain.
Everything was my fault. Take Roman and go to her—

“Did you ever tell Roman whatever Fred said?” Uma pressed gently.

“No. It’s better he doesn’t know.”

“You should tell him, no matter what it was.”

She nuzzled his back and Mitchell’s anger slowly slanted precariously into soft wooziness and hunger.

“I missed you today,” he admitted roughly, and sucked in his breath as she eased away slightly, her hands sliding from him. His shirt fluttered to the ground, covering the rose petals and the lavender, followed by her panties. Then she was back, her breasts bare and warm against his back. “Tell me what you feel, Mitchell. Just what you feel….”

“That this is right,” he whispered rawly as he turned to catch her in his arms, seeking those soft lips. Uma’s lips opened to his, the seal perfect and hot and tormenting, pulsing with hunger, her arms tight around him, her body waiting—

He couldn’t wait, bearing her gently down to the shirt spread upon the lavender bed. In his mind, he wanted to take her gently, yet that plan slid away into the rose blossoms crushed by their bodies. Uma unfurled to his needs, hungry, stormy, her hands gripping his hair, holding him as he stripped away his jeans.

She was ripe and sweet and tender and intense, flowing beneath him, closing her eyes as he entered her.

“Does it bother you?” he asked roughly, needing to know. “The scars on my leg?”

Her hand smoothed the uneven skin, and Mitchell waited, his heart pounding. Early in his life, more than one woman had hated the sight of the scars. “No, they’re a part of you. A badge of your bravery. You’ll always face what comes, even this, between us,” she whispered unevenly.

He lifted her face to the moonlight and Uma kissed his hand. “I don’t know that I can wait, honey.”

“It is wise to take what is right for one when the moment arrives.”

“Good advice.” Then Mitchell couldn’t think any more, his body needing the depth and the heat and the tightness of hers, the flowing together that made them one—a oneness
he’d never had, diving into the tempest, feeding on it…
the Oneness…

Uma understood the primitive taking, welcomed it. Mitchell’s honesty was undiluted, stripped of civilization. His breath became hers, his body lodged deep within hers, surging powerfully as she met him thrust for thrust. His lips, his whispers driving her on, that tight clenching taking what she needed to soothe the ache within her.

For just one heartbeat, she opened her eyes to the man above her, the power and truth in him, his features taut with desire. His hands ran down her body claiming her, finding her, and the first jolt of pleasure tossed her against him, his mouth sealing hers as it went on and on.

Uma tried to breathe, fought for control, needing to make the pleasure she’d waited for all day last and last. When it came, peaked, and drove her higher, Mitchell held her tightly—she gave him everything, trusted him to care for her.

Then he was lifting her gently into his arms, easing her into the house and placing her upon his bed.

Mitchell came to her again, needing her, filling her, hungry for her just as she was for him, meeting him passion for passion, taking and giving—

Later, a very well-loved Uma sighed and drifted off to sleep in his arms. The soft drape of her arms and legs was luxuriously feminine and sweet. He liked holding her, listening to her sigh sleepily, wondering at the slight frowns and secret smiles as she slept. The scent of crushed rose petals filled the room, and shadows stirring softly as if Lauren hovered nearby, pleased at the tenderness he felt for Uma, the need to protect her. Mitchell looked at the moonlit shadows on the ceiling and smoothed Uma’s hair, easing the soft strands across his chest.

Who would want to hurt her? Or Shelly? Or Pearl? Why?

Someone did, that was a certainty. Another certainty was that he wanted nothing to do with his mother.

Mitchell gathered Uma closer, smiling a bit at her notation that he cuddled. He really had to read her book, he decided sleepily as Uma began to stir beside him. Her eyes opened slowly, silver in the night. “You’re not getting your way,” he whispered.

“Oh, aren’t I?” she asked as she rose to straddle him, her eyes silvery in the night, then closing as she accepted him gently into her warmth. The rosy flush of her cheeks told him that she was unfamiliar with taking what she wanted, and yet she wanted him enough to step outside her boundaries.