Wild Hawk (21 page)

There was the slightest of pauses before he said, “She’s not going to get away with it.”

Kendall had the feeling that he meant much more than what his words appeared to mean on the surface, but she was so relieved that he’d changed his mind that she didn’t dwell on it. She hadn’t let Aaron down after all.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, a note of amused warning in his voice. “I’m a tough bastard to work with.”

“Good. It’s going to take a tough bastard to beat Alice.” For the first time since he’d come back from that meeting, she smiled at him.

He went very still, staring at her. She assumed he was startled that she’d so easily tossed the harsh phrase back at him. Suddenly he tossed the envelope back on the chair beside him, atop his coat.

“Later. We’re going to take that break. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“On both of us,” Kendall agreed softly.

Had it really been only two days? she thought in shocked realization. She had expected, if she ever found Aaron’s son, that he would take a lot of her time for a while. She hadn’t expected him to consume her entire life, to take over every waking and sleeping moment to the exclusion of all else.

It wasn’t until their food, a plate of the Gables exquisitely prepared lemon chicken for her and a sizable filet of fresh halibut for him, sat in front of them that he spoke again.

“What happened to your parents?”

The question startled her enough that she stared at him for a long, silent moment before she answered.

“They were killed in a traffic accident when I was seven.” Still unable to quite make the mental jump from the suspicious, cold person he’d been to this man showing every evidence of friendly, genuine interest, she added bluntly, “Why?”

He didn’t react to her tone. “I just wondered.” After she’d taken a bite of her chicken and a sip of water, he asked, “Why foster homes? Wasn’t there somebody else to take care of you?”

“No more than there was for you,” she said, unable to guess why this topic had suddenly become of interest to him. “I had a grandmother, my father’s mother, but she was ill and couldn’t deal with a seven-year-old. She died a couple of years later.”

“So you were an orphan.”

She grimaced. “I hate that word. It sounds so . . . needy.”

“I know,” he said, in a quiet, gentle tone she’d never heard from him before. It made her feel very strange inside, a softer, less urgent version of what she’d felt when he’d kissed her.

“It wasn’t so bad,” she hastened to say. “Most of the people I lived with were nice. And Mrs. McCurdy, the lady I lived with in high school, was wonderful. She was a teacher, and she was the one who convinced me I should go to college. She even tutored me so I could improve my grades. I still hear from her.”

“She must be proud you turned out so well.”

“Yes, she is.” She hesitated, then decided to take advantage of this oddly complaisant mood he seemed to be in. “Why did you run away, Jason? After your mother died?”

She expected him to tense up, but he leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about that. I hated the idea of living with strangers. I must have picked up that feeling from my mother. She always said never to trust strangers. I assumed it was natural maternal caution, but now . . .”

Kendall’s eyes widened. “You think she was . . . afraid? That Alice would . . . send somebody after you again?”

“Maybe she knew Alice knew where we were. Maybe she just sensed someone was keeping track of us. I don’t know. I just know she was always afraid. I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t.”

“Poor Beth,” Kendall murmured. “What a sad way to live.”

“Beth?”

Kendall nodded, lost in contemplation of a young woman whose life had revolved around keeping her young son safe from a malevolent woman. “That’s what Aaron always called her. His Beth. I got in the habit of thinking of her that way.”

The minute the words came out, she snapped out of her reverie, cringing as she braced herself for some kind of biting observation on her continued attempts to convince him Aaron had truly loved his mother. It didn’t come. His usually sharp gaze seemed unfocused, and when he spoke, his voice was as softly reflective as Kendall’s reverie had been.

“No wonder she hated it when people called her that. She always told people to call her Elizabeth, or Liz, or even Lizzie, just not Beth. It must have . . . hurt too much.”

“Oh, Jason,” she said softly.

He looked at her then, and for an instant the old Jason seemed to be looking at her, cool and seemingly assessing her reaction. But it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure, and the engaging smile was back.

“Do you remember your mother, Kendall?”

Disconcerted by the unexpected question, it took her a moment to answer. “Yes. In bits and pieces. And I have pictures, of all of us together. That helps.”

They were halfway through the dessert Jason had insisted on before she realized she’d spent practically the entire meal talking about herself, her family memories, her time at college, and silly things she knew perfectly well Jason had no interest in. Yet he kept asking, guiding the conversation back to her whenever it strayed, as if finding out about her had become the most important thing in his life. It would have been flattering, had she not had a suspicion that there was some hidden motive to this, some motive she hadn’t yet figured out.

Why are you so determined to think I have some hidden agenda here?

Her own words came back to her, mocking her. She had accused Jason of the very thing she was doing now, looking for a hidden motive to everything. And she had nothing more to base her doubts on than a flicker of something in his eyes, something she wasn’t even certain she’d really seen.

They rode back to the motel in silence. A comfortable, companionable silence, suited to two people who had just enjoyed a delicious meal and were now pleasantly tired. It wasn’t until they pulled into the parking lot that Kendall suddenly wondered where Jason was planning on spending the night.

He’d been so exhausted last night that she’d had little concern about him staying with her. But he wasn’t that tired now. And last night had been before he’d kissed her . . .

He was around the car and opening the door for her before she could manage to do it herself; she was still feeling the effects of the crash rather strongly. She tried formulating the question in her head a dozen different ways as he walked with her up to the door of her room, but she couldn’t think of anything that didn’t make her sound like a fool.

“We’ll figure out a plan of attack in the morning,” he said as she fumbled with her key.

“I . . . All right.”

This lock hadn’t seemed this tricky before, she thought, trying again to insert the uncooperative key. Gently Jason took the key, slid it into the lock, and opened the door for her.

“Good night, Kendall. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Her gaze flicked to his face. She didn’t think she’d let her thoughts show, but he spoke as if they’d been written across her forehead.

“I got a room when I first got back tonight. I’m next door.”

“Oh.”

“Not,” he said, his voice suddenly husky, “that I’d turn down an invitation to share.”

Kendall felt color flood her cheeks. She looked away, but with a gentle touch he held her chin up so she had to look at him. He smiled, an expression that was almost tender on his face.

“I thought it was a bit too soon. But I had to ask.”

He lifted one shoulder in an almost sheepish half shrug, but as he looked down at her, his smile slowly faded, to be replaced by something much more elemental. Heat flared in his eyes as the thumb of the hand that had tilted her head back came up to trace the line of her lower lip.

“Jason.” She stopped when she heard the quiver in her voice.

“I want you, Kendall.” His voice was low, thick. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you stand up to that old bitch at the funeral.”

For an instant, before heat swamped her from the images those husky words brought on, she felt a surge of satisfaction that he’d said that, rather than some banal comment about her appearance. Then caution rose in her. He’d thought her Aaron’s mistress then. She didn’t know if he still believed it, but if so, this could be some twisted way to strike at his dead father.

“A-Aaron,” she stammered. “You think I—”

He hushed her with a finger to her lips. “I know better now. And Aaron has nothing to do with this. Nothing to do with us.”

He gave her plenty of time to move, to dodge away, but she knew she would do neither. Nothing in her life had ever made her feel the way Jason’s kiss had, and she had to know if it had been a fluke, an out-of-proportion response engendered by the emptiness of her social life over the past three years.

The moment his mouth came down on hers, she knew it hadn’t been. Heat leapt in her so quickly it would have taken her breath away had not the feel of his lips against hers not already done it. She felt the strong, gentle touch of his hands at the back of her neck as he threaded his fingers through her hair. She let her head loll back, feeling unable to do anything else. He deepened the kiss, his mouth moving coaxingly on hers.

She didn’t need coaxing. Her pulse began to hammer in hot, heavy beats, spreading the fire, suffusing her with a sensation of rising need and longing she’d never felt in her life. Her hands came up to rest on his chest, but if any part of her mind had thought to push him away, the urge vanished when she felt the slight brush of his tongue over her lips. She parted them for him reflexively, without even thinking about resisting.

He probed forward tentatively, tracing the soft inner surface of her lips, the even ridge of her teeth. When the tip of his tongue, hot, wet, rough velvet, brushed her own, a shiver rippled down her spine and on to her knees, weakening them until she sagged against him.

His hands slid down to her shoulders, both supporting her and pulling her against him at the same time. She barely noticed the stiffness of wrenched muscles now. His mouth never left hers; instead he probed deeper, sending darting little bursts of fire down nerves she’d forgotten existed. If she had ever known them at all. Instinctively, driven by a need she barely recognized, she moved against him, feeling her nipples draw up tight with need against his chest. Echoing darts of fire arrowed downward within her, connecting the aching peaks of her breasts to someplace deep inside her that was turning molten, hot and liquid.

She heard an odd little sound, a breathy moan, and realized it was coming from her. As if in response, Jason’s grip tightened. He drew her closer. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, his hand slipped down to her waist, his fingers tightened, and he pulled her hard against him. She heard him groan, low and deep in his chest, in the same moment that she felt the insistent press of rigidly aroused male flesh against her belly.

He moved his hips sharply, convulsively, as if he couldn’t stop himself. She felt again the prod of his erection, heard him make another low, compressed sound, shorter this time, as if he’d cut off the groan before it could escape.

Then his tongue plunged deep, searching, tasting, urging—no, demanding—a fiercer response from her. She gave it, because she had no choice. Her body had leapt to life at the touch of his mouth, of his hands, at the undeniable knowledge that he was as aroused as she was. It was that knowledge that made the muscles low and deep inside her cramp violently, around a hollow, empty place she’d never known was there before.

This time it was she who moved, shifting her body to increase the pressure on his, to slowly rub against him. And this time the groan escaped him, a deep, hoarse sound that sent a thrill through her. A thrill that intensified when, incredibly, she felt him shudder, felt a sharp contraction of his fingers, digging into her waist.

Abruptly he backed away, releasing her. The chilly evening air seemed to rush between them, making her even more aware of the heat that had risen in her. She lifted her gaze to his face. Through the haze of lingering pleasure that enveloped her, she was vaguely aware that he looked . . . odd. Strained. As if something out of synch had happened, something unexpected. But as it did so often with this man who seemed a master at masking himself, the expression vanished in the next instant.

He lifted one hand and gently brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Good night, Kendall,” he said, and she shivered at the sensual promise in those words, in his voice, heard as clearly as if he’d said it that he wouldn’t be saying good night to her at her door forever.

And when she at last was able to move, when she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, when she should have been feeling relief that things hadn’t gotten, as they so easily could have, out of hand, she ruefully had to admit that what she was feeling wasn’t relief but disappointment.

And she knew then that she had greatly underestimated just how big a danger Jason was to her. She would do well to remember that no matter how charming he’d been tonight, he was still Aaron’s son. And Aaron himself had known very well how to use charm when it was called for.

Maybe Hawks bred true after all.