With Her Last Breath (15 page)

He leaned his head against the hand smoothing his cheek, enjoying the gentleness that lingered between them. “No, you’re staying put. This is nice. You know, I’m a much better guy than Dante. You sat on his lap. Now everyone thinks you’re his girl. You could have sat on my lap.”

She smiled at that. “He’s very charming, and there wasn’t anywhere else to sit. And I didn’t think his lap was dangerous.”

Nick didn’t allow his smirk to show—when a woman no
ticed a man’s lap, that gave him hope. “And I’m not charming? Okay, maybe I’m out of practice. I’ll try harder.” He intended to give her something to think about, lowering her to her feet, and taking her mouth, devouring it, flying with her.

Instead, Maggie’s hands fisted his hair, her mouth open beneath his, tasting of hunger and storms and heat. He slowly slid his hands down her body, from beneath her arms, to her rib cage, to that indentation of her waist to the curve of her hips, and ran one finger around the elastic waistband of her briefs, lingering where he wanted to take, and cupped her bottom. “You are a fine-looking woman, Maggie Chantel. Can you blame me?” he asked wryly.

Her laugh was sultry and knowing and feminine. “You’re on the make, Nick. I’m just the closest and the newest game in town.”

“I’m wounded,” he returned, moving into the friendly tease, enjoying Maggie without her defenses.

She patted his cheek, and Nick lifted her in his arms, placing her safely inside the camper. “Good night, sweet princess. You can do my laundry any time.”

She laughed outright at that, and Nick closed the door, and the temptation that was Maggie, from him. The encounter was friendly and tender and enough—but he wanted much more.

Celeste raised her arms to the moon, calling to the winds, asking them to show her more.

“That’s creepy,” Beth said behind her. “I don’t know if I should stay the night or not. You’ve been in a strange mood lately.”

The winds tugged at Celeste’s caftan as she tried to see inside, where the darkness hovered, expected, and warned. “Do you like my house, Beth?” she asked, loosening her long hair to flow in the wind, twining with her scarf almost sensually.

“You know I love it.”

Celeste liked the idea of Maggie and Beth sharing her
small cottage, tending the herbs. Maggie had linked with Beth in some unexpected way, and the younger woman had settled in Maggie’s presence, trusting her.

Beth would survive, but Maggie—there the whispers doubted and ended, because Maggie had closed herself to Celeste. But in the psychic’s mind, the dog and the locket were bound to Maggie, and there lay the danger…

Strange that Maggie had no sense of danger, and yet it slithered after her. But then too many images filled Maggie’s mind, not letting the danger in. What were those images? What was the link between Maggie and her own death?

Celeste closed her eyes, and beneath her hands, her heart skipped and leaped and stopped. “You’d take care of my cats, wouldn’t you, Beth? If something happened to me?”

They were her family, and so was the girl, and now Maggie.

As a child, Lorna had sought refuge from her father in Celeste’s arms. Perhaps Lorna-the-woman didn’t want to remember those times when she’d needed love so badly. But the attachment was there in a soft look, or the way Lorna stopped by the shop now and then, for no special purpose.

Celeste would never live to see the good Lorna would do, never see her come into a woman’s happiness. But Celeste knew that Lorna would find her path and in giving, receive more than she had ever hoped…

“Jeez, you’re creeping me out, old woman.” But Beth stood beside Celeste and held her hand. “Nothing is going to happen to you. Don’t say that again. I don’t want to think about it.”

But Celeste had to think and wonder and prepare, because her death was coming closer. “I’m going for a walk. Alone. But I’d love for you to spend the night.”

“I’ll come with you—”

“No, it’s my time to think. I need the night at times. It holds me close and whispers. And I listen.”

But I can’t hear what it says about Maggie—only that she brings my death and maybe her own…

M
aggie sucked in air and knocked on Nick’s back screen door. The rippling, cool jazz music coming from within the house did not soothe her, nor did mid-June’s evening fragrances. After sunset and an evening of doing yard work at the camper, the fast walk to reclaim Scout was not welcome.

She swatted at the moths fluttering against the yellow porch light and impatiently brushed away the bits of grass clinging to her tank top and cutoff shorts.

Maggie hadn’t talked to Nick for two weeks and she liked keeping her distance. He had pushed her too hard for answers she didn’t want to give. Was her affection and concern for Beth so easily read?

Was she actually trying to substitute Beth for Glenda? Was she obsessing about salvaging Beth when she couldn’t save Glenda? Or was it about reclaiming herself?

Maggie forced herself to release Glenda’s locket. The habit was too telling, leaving her vulnerable for speculation and questions.

Nick was patiently working her for answers, but he was disturbing on a sensual man-woman level.

When he wanted, Nick could send a dark look that sizzled the air between them. In passing, Rosa had said Nick was thinning the blooms on his vineyard, working long hours outside, and also in the winery, contacting customers and working on his bottling supplies and inventory. It was obvious that Nick’s mother wanted Maggie to know that he was very busy, but Rosa’s broad hints were unmistakable. He also came into the restaurant for meals at exactly eight o’clock at night, and if Maggie wanted to drop over for a meal, there would be no cost because the Alessandros liked her.

Rosa had added tightly that her son was not in love with Lorna, who hadn’t resolved the issues her father had created. Maybe she was looking for a strong man like her father, maybe not. “She does things to get attention from men, and she has to have what she can’t have—I think that is why she has chosen Nick. It’s rumored that she has a boyfriend, but no one knows who he is. She actually paid some gigolo to romance her and she likes to shock people by the things she says, getting that attention she should have had from her cold father. What Lorna needs at times is a good spanking, but most of all I just want to hold her like a poor little lost bird,” Rosa had said.

Maggie frowned as she heard footsteps inside Nick’s house. She wasn’t befriending a woman like Lorna; she was already too deep into Beth’s life and couldn’t seem to back away. Lorna had her problems, and Maggie had hers.

Scout’s direct run toward Nick’s house indicated that he was home tonight; Maggie’s dog seemed to have radar where Nick was concerned.

Nick opened the door; a background trumpet wailed softly, curling around her, and Scout appeared to sit beside his feet. The kitchen light behind him framed his body, and other than the towel around his hips, all Nick wore were the glittering drops of water on his shoulders and in his hair.

As yet uncombed, the thick black waves were plastered to his head; the curls at the ends almost touched his shoulders and dripped slightly. Without the softness of those waves, the jutting masculine planes of Nick’s face caught the light, the hollows in shadow. Those thick brows were locked in a frown, his lashes spiked over narrowed eyes, and a muscle moved beneath that stubble-covered jaw, a pulse throbbing in his muscled neck.

One drop slid from his ear to his shoulder, gleaming on his dark skin. Then it slowly trailed downward to match the others beading the hair on his chest. From there, the single dark line narrowed until it reached his navel, and the white border of flesh where the towel had slipped said Nick wasn’t completely tan.

“I want my dog,” Maggie stated abruptly, to stop the big vibrating warning of you-haven’t-had-sex-in-years awareness of her body.

He took in her sweaty face, the bits of grass clinging to her chest and arms, the worn tank top, cutoffs, and bare legs. She fought wiggling her toe in the hole Scout had chewed in her cheap canvas loafers.

“Bad day?” he asked softly, picking a twig from her hair, and his expression slid into darkly sensual.

Maggie tried not to inhale too deeply; the scent of masculine soap and man was definitely erotic. “Yes. My battery is dead. I’ve been mowing and cutting George’s hedge and cleaning out his old garden. Then I had to walk the two miles to your house to collect my dog.”

She decided to move quickly out of Nick’s sensual appeal. Maggie patted her thigh. “Come on, Scout. Let’s go.”

Scout whined and disappeared into the shadows of the house.

“I would have brought her back. She was here, barking, when I got out of the shower.”

Maggie kept her eyes firmly on Nick’s face. It was just one of those days when nothing went right, including the leap of
her senses, the need to slide that towel from Nick. Her personal battery seemed to be well charged.

She looked up at the ceiling and hoped she wasn’t drooling.

“You’re all sweaty,” he said huskily and Maggie’s skin started a different sort of heat, the kind that ran clear through her, staking her soles to the wooden planks of his deck.

“Hi,” she managed, quite a brilliant statement for her lips to make when her mind wasn’t working. In shocking contrast, her body was revved and already in nipple-contraction mode and it wasn’t chilly. The sudden alert had surprised her; she didn’t consider herself a woman whose sensuality was at the fore. But it had certainly leaped at the sight of Nick.

“Hi,” Nick returned, and bent to brush his lips over hers. “You smell sweet, like fresh-cut grass.”

“You smell like soap. I smell like sweat,” she corrected automatically. But while her mouth spoke, her mind had seemed to stop turning. When it did, she envisioned a cartoon of herself—tongue unrolling to the floor, eyes popping, and heart leaping out of her chest to pound madly.

He chuckled, those velvety black eyes flowing warm upon her. “Nothing like a pragmatic woman. It’s girl sweat, sweet and warm and sexy and arousing.”

“I’m really tired, Nick, and not that happy with my dog.” She didn’t want to discuss her sweat with Nick. The damage she did to George’s overgrown yard, heaps of trimmed brush, was a result of taking an in-depth look at her thin finances. Scout’s regular checkup at the veterinarian’s office had been costly, so had the replacement for her pickup’s bald tires, and now it needed a battery.

Longing for a real home, she’d just splurged on women’s magazines, an expensive treat for a woman with a flatliner checkbook—but just possibly they could fill her mind enough to keep the nightmares away.

“I can help you jumpstart that battery. But it would be pretty easy to drop one in tonight.”

“Everything is closed tonight. I walk most of the time anyway.” Tonight, after destroying a major overgrown hedgerow and leaving mounds of brush, she couldn’t manage walking back—not unless she curled up on the roadside somewhere and rested. “I would appreciate the ride. I’ll pay you back. I’ll clean or something…laundry, maybe?”

“A little ride isn’t worth that. But come in. I’m about to have a sandwich. Want one?”

Food wasn’t something she’d thought about in her snit. Now her stomach cramped slightly and she remembered that small carton of yogurt she’d had for lunch.

Nick’s fingertip slid between her brows. “You’re thinking too hard. You’re always thinking too hard. A little relaxation wouldn’t hurt you.”

While she was balancing her hunger and bone-tired fatigue against his favors, Nick’s hand found hers. He tugged her into the kitchen, closing the door against the moths that had begun to circle the porch light. She was just like them, Maggie thought as Nick’s close study sent her a sensual message strong enough to take her back against the wall.

On that broad chest, a muscle shifted beneath the tanned skin. His nipple jumped, startling her as he reached to steady the small decorative wall plate she’d bumped with her shoulder. His hand remained to slide the band from her ponytail, to run his fingers through her hair. He picked a blade of grass free and tickled her nose. “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s nice seeing you again,” she managed, very properly, and smiled when he laughed.

“You can cool off in the shower if you want. Or I can take you home now,” he added as he turned to walk to the kitchen counter. That damp towel left little to her imagination.

He began to make sandwiches, leaving Maggie with a mouth-watering view of his backside and a powerful thigh that she wanted to caress—okay, maybe dig her fingers into a bit.

“I want to go home now,” she whispered and wished her voice didn’t waver.

That look over his shoulder, that cocked eyebrow challenged her. “We could eat on the beach and Scout could have a dip.”

She crossed her arms and dug her fingers into her flesh, because if that towel slipped another inch…. Her hands could almost feel those hard buttocks…. “I’d better go home now.”

“It’s a nice night, not too cold.”

“I’m tired,” she lied because every muscle in her body was locked onto those broad shoulders, that waving wet hair—and she definitely was primed, not tired.

Nick sliced through the sandwich, cutting it in half with one deft movement. He placed the knife aside and turned to her, his arms crossing his chest. “Afraid?”

“Of what?”

That lazy expression turned grim and hard. “Of me. Of you. Of what might happen. Relax, Maggie. It’s only a friendly offer. I’m not going to jump you. But someone has, and maybe some day you’ll trust me enough to tell me about it.”

She rubbed her forehead, trying to ease the headache brewing there, and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. Just a thread of pride was holding her upright, and any minute she’d crumble. What did her admission matter now? “You’re right. I have had a bad day.”

“Get in the shower, Maggie. I’ve seen the one at the camper, and it’s not big enough for a child. You’ll feel better,” Nick offered more gently.

“I don’t think I can move.” Every muscle in her body had locked, aching from the ladies’ class, a fierce angry stab at her own extreme aerobics to siphon off some frustration, and then a battle with her finances, the yard trimming, and the walk to his house.

The sound from Nick was rough and impatient, a contrast to the soothing blues coming from the other room. His hand took hers. “Come on, Maggie. You’ll feel better after a shower and some food. I’ll heat up some of Sissy’s vegetable
lasagna. I doubt that you’re a pastrami and salami kind of girl.”

She smiled weakly. “You’re right.”

“You’re working too hard, pushing yourself. And it isn’t all about money. Something is going on inside you and it’s all coming out, despite you trying to hold it back. Beth is some kind of trigger for you, and you’re fighting yourself too hard. Your fear of water—did someone you love, who reminds you of Beth, drown?”

So much had happened—Maggie slowly opened her eyes and found his concern. She shook her head. “I’ve been on a long trip, trying to figure out my life, Nick. It costs. I’m just trying to find a place for myself and Scout.”

The toll on her had been heavy, because she couldn’t find what she was seeking, a sister that would never come back to her—she couldn’t find that simple peace that would allow her to rest…

“Take a break for tonight. We can eat when you get out of the shower, okay?”

With Scout curled beside her later on Nick’s couch, Maggie felt the tension slide away, the effects of soothing music, delicious food, and a walk along the beach, allowing Scout to swim and retrieve. It was only a moment, and then she’d leave, she thought sleepily as she nestled her head against the pillow he’d used, catching Nick’s scent and wrapping it safely around her.

She awoke to the sound of Scout’s excited barking. Terror streaked through Maggie, bringing her to her feet, her heart pounding. Following the sound, Maggie stepped out onto the porch, searching for her pet.

In the predawn’s pale light, Nick stood on the beach, playing fetch with Scout. Maggie waited for her heartbeat to settle, and suddenly she was so tired, as if she’d wandered too long and had finally come to a place where she could really rest.

For now, she thought, as she snuggled back beneath the
light throw on the couch, for now she could rest and let the world slide past…

Brent’s anger rose as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. The attorney was once one of Brent’s old “brotherhood,” a top social set who helped one another. Daniels had needed help in getting the right dominatrix—classy, firm, painful—just like dear old mom.

“I’ve already given you payment,” Daniels stated roughly. “I’m not helping you locate Maggie Chantel. She left the area a year ago, and I don’t ever want to see her again. Same goes for you. You’re both nothing but trouble—she actually confronted me about her sister, right in court. If Judge Jones hadn’t been my friend—well, Sam shut her up, and we all managed to close her out of any work near here. You’d do well to leave the area, too. You should have been a lot more careful in who you selected—someone without a bulldog of a prying sister. After Glenda overdosed, Maggie really set to work making trouble. Hell, it took a whole year of her hanging around, trying to get work and make more trouble, before we got rid of her. You’ve been tracking her all over the gyms and spas where she might be working—oh, yes, your activities are easily tracked without the slightest effort. If you call me one more time for anything—money or information—you won’t like the results. I hope you both rot in hell. You will, if you call again.”

With a curse, Brent slammed down the telephone. It bounced from the cradle and tumbled to the floor, the dead line hissing metallically.

He pulled his anger back into him where it could be nurtured until he found Maggie—the woman who had ruined him.

He carefully picked up the receiver and placed it on the cradle. Everything nice and neat. Everything in good time. “You’ll tell me you love me, Maggie. Wait for me.”

At one unexpected thought, his indrawn breath hissed around the cheap motel room. If Maggie dared to take a
lover, that man would also have to die very slowly—in front of her—because she should wait for her punishment.