by Linda Turner
He clicked out of that image and opened another. “Ancient history, that’s what he called it.” There was, he supposed, skeletons buried in every decade. It was damn impossible to tell which ones, if any, were relevant.
Several pictures later she said, “This one’s interesting.” It showed Tarkington and Beal in a corner of the conference room, in what appeared to be deep discussion.
“Not necessarily nefarious,” he commented. “I spoke to both of them tonight myself.” A few minutes later, though, he paused on a different one, a frown forming on his face. There was an image of Marcus and Tucker talking just inside the entrance of the building. From the expression on their faces they appeared to be arguing.
“I know him.” Tori pointed at Tucker. “He’s one of the young men you had drive me home that day. Who’s he with?”
“His father, Marcus Rappaport, my vice president of production.”
Obviously recognizing the name, Tori peered more closely at the shot. James took a moment to study it, as well. Marcus doted on his son; James had rarely heard a cross word spoken between them. The man could, however, be something of a perfectionist. He made a mental note to ask if there had been any complications in the expo setup that would have had Marcus more stressed than usual.
Tori took control of the mouse and was clicking more rapidly through the images. Apparently, he hadn’t been moving fast enough to suit her. Pausing on one, she observed, “Here’s your assistant.” Celia was shown clearly, but her companion was only half-visible. James gave it a cursory glance but Tori was peering at it more closely. “That almost looks like…” She tilted her head. “It is. See that tie? What’s showing, anyway. I recognize the suit, too.” She looked up at him, expression sober. “She’s talking to Beal.” Sitting back in her seat, she drew a deep breath. “Think they’re discussing ancient history?”
By the time they’d been completely through the images twice, exhaustion was taking its toll on both of them. At least, Tori assumed that James felt it, as well. For the first time since she’d met him, there were signs of weariness on his face. “When was the last time you got some sleep?” she asked abruptly. If she’d rested as little as he must have in the past few days, she’d be walking into walls by now.
He sat back, stretched. “A full night? It’s been a while. And something tells me it will be a while longer.”
She looked out the window, where the pearly dawn was beginning to lighten the sky. “Then let’s wrap this up for now. Tomorrow will be soon enough to figure out our next step.” She was half-surprised when he complied, ejecting the CD and locking it in the desk drawer. She was even more shocked when he rose, caught her hand and pulled her up to bury his face in her hair, holding her tightly to him.
“I know you feel guilty about Corday,” he murmured, rubbing her spine soothingly. “But I have it on good authority that blaming yourself doesn’t change anything. Leave the guilt to the person responsible. Your hiring him didn’t get him killed—the person who shot him did.”
A long breath shuddered out of her. Despite his words, despite hearing her own advice parroted back to her, she knew it would be a long time before she would forget the inadvertent part she’d played in the man’s death. “Do you know what’s more annoying than a man who’s right?”
His low chuckle was response enough. He loosened his embrace, leaving his arm around her waist. “Let’s go to bed. I think I could sleep, eventually, with you in my arms.”
The invitation summoned a smoky wisp of need. She could feel her pulse beating, strong and slow. After tonight she was even less sure than ever that this thing between them was right. But she was also less prepared than before to turn away from it. Life, as the past few hours had shown, was a fragile thing. And surely at its end, it would be the chances not seized that would elicit the greatest regrets, rather than the risks taken.
And so she allowed him to lead her up the stairs. Walked with him hand in hand into her bedroom and, at his urging, into the bath. While he turned on the jets, she stepped out of her heels, and her feet sobbed in gratitude. He straightened and shrugged out of his jacket. But when her hands went to her dress, he stopped her. “Let me.”
Slowly she swayed toward him. Hooking an arm around her waist, her brought her closer. “I’ve been wondering all night what keeps that darn thing up.” His hands ran down her back, over her bottom and back up again. “No zipper? How’d you get it on?”
Her limbs were taking on the consistency of melted wax. “Ingenuity…” She paused, and nipped at his chin, “and dexterity.”
“Well…” His fingers stroked her back, where it was bared by the straps. “Never let it be said that I lack ingenuity.” With a quick twist of his hand, he had two straps separated from the material. The bodice sagged, revealing the tops of her breasts. Another tug, and the rest snapped free. The dress slid to her hips.
“Most would consider that a terrible waste of money,” she informed him.
“Honey, for this view, there’s no price I wouldn’t pay.” He was looking entirely too pleased with himself, so she took her time working the dress over her hips, down her thighs, one excruciatingly slow inch at a time, until at last it was puddled around her feet, leaving her clad only in a scrap of silk panties. The look on his face more than made up for the fact that she was practically naked, while he was fully clothed.
When he would have reached for her, she stepped out of reach. “One of us is overdressed.” Hooking her thumbs in the sides of her panties, she whisked them down her legs. “And I don’t think it’s me. Honey.”
His low groan drew a smile to her lips, and she stepped into the water, sank low in it. He dug in his pocket, withdrew a foil-wrapped package and set it on the edge of the tub. Then it was her turn to watch as he stripped off his clothes, with considerably less finesse than she’d exhibited. His body was, she decided dreamily, rather magnificent. She would have liked a chance to study it, a visual journey to map each plane and sinew. But in the next moment he was joining her, drawing her to kneel with him in the center of the tub. The bubbling water lapped at their chests while their lips met with scorching intensity.
The world careened, receded. There was only the taste of him, the unchecked urgency of his mouth, his teeth, his tongue. The hint of wildness in his kiss should have alarmed her. Instead it excited, igniting heat and desire that had only seemed to simmer until bursting forth again, summoned by his touch.
He had quick, clever hands, and had already committed to memory which places made her go weak and boneless. She slicked her hands over his torso, enjoying the feel of sleek wet masculine skin beneath her fingers. Her touch faltered when he took the lobe of her ear between his teeth, and her body jerked helplessly against his. It didn’t seem quite fair the way her body betrayed her so easily, passion fogging intent.
His mouth was as heated as the water, and avid as it followed the line of her throat, skimmed over her shoulders. Wanting, needing to give the same pleasure, she leaned forward, used the tip of her tongue to scoop up the tiny rivulets of water that ran down his chest. Her hands glided down his back, settled on his hard masculine buns and kneaded.
Her breath hissed out and her head lolled as he bent his head, and took a nipple between his lips. With each tiny tug of his mouth, the ache in the pit of her belly intensified. It didn’t seem possible that the passion between them could burn this hot, return this quickly. She was helpless to deny a response; helpless to temper it. Recognition of that fact made her doubly determined to elicit the same from him.
She found the hard length of him, slid her fingers up and down in a slippery dance that had his jaw clenching, his muscles tensing.
His arm banded across her back while the pressure of his mouth grew more hungry. The evidence of his desire only stoked her own, sending the blood sizzling under her skin. Sensation slapped against sensation. Wet flesh twisted against wet flesh, the friction a delight, a torment.
He reached blindly for the condom, swo
re viciously as he struggled with it. Then, hands beneath her hips, he pressed her against the smooth back of the tub, the water splashing precariously high, as he urged her legs around his waist. The position left her open to him, vulnerable. With a movement that hinted at desperation, he seated himself deep inside her.
His possession was sudden, complete, and drove the breath from her lungs. She tried to regain a measure of control, but he was driving into her now, each thrust deeper than the other, and thoughts of restraint went spinning away. They were as close as they could be, and yet still not close enough. Her hands streaked over his skin, trying to draw him nearer. Her teeth scraped ungently on his shoulder as one of his hands reached between their bodies, fondled her, applying pressure that drove her higher, wilder.
And when the dual assault had her back arching, the climax ripping through her, she was distantly aware that it had taken him, too. They tumbled together headlong into the rush of pleasure.
It had a been a singularly satisfying experience for Tori to wake up in James’s arms that morning. Even more so when she’d managed to sneak from the bed and leave him sleeping. He’d put up a fierce battle, but sheer fatigue eventually overcame even the strongest will. She’d left him a note detailing her plans for the day and slipped from the room, fervently hoping he would sleep another few hours before his internal clock would wake him up.
She’d summoned a cab to take her home, and once there she determined that the workmen must be finished with her house. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Of course, the front room was stripped bare of carpet, sofa and chairs, but once this was over, the first thing she’d do would be to get them replaced.
Once this was over. The phrase replayed in her head all the way to her office, making it difficult to concentrate on the work she needed to accomplish there. She had a bad feeling about this, a niggling blade of foreboding that warned of future catastrophe. It was worry for James, she told herself. But if she was honest, there was worry there for herself, as well.
A wiser woman, one with a faster learning curve, wouldn’t have fallen for a man like James Tremaine. The admission was there, unvarnished and terrifying. She was in love with the wrong man. Again. The recollection of her failed marriage no longer stung, but the memory remained of how glaringly out of place she’d been in her ex’s world.
The one bright spot in the whole mess was that James wasn’t aware of her feelings. When it ended, she’d be able to slip from his life as easily as she had his bed, with a modicum of pride intact. She was certain that pride was going to be less than satisfying, compared to what she was leaving behind.
But first she had to keep James Tremaine alive. And the only way to do that was to hunt down the killer and see that he paid. For everything.
To that end she worked feverishly all afternoon. She’d directed one of her information brokers to dig up more information on Celia. James hadn’t seemed overly concerned, but the digital picture they’d seen last night of her with Beal, after hearing of their past relationship, made Tori wary. She spent several hours combing any databases she could access for more details on Beal and Tarkington. The most interesting tidbit she’d gleaned was that thirty years ago, for a brief time before he’d started his own company, Beal had worked for the other man.
Tori was still leaning back in her chair, chewing on that piece of information when her phone rang. A quick glance at the caller ID showed that it was the real estate agent for her father’s house.
His news brought mingled emotions. He’d found a buyer, but they wanted to move quickly. And he wouldn’t end the conversation until he’d gotten her promise to empty the house within the next week.
Giving a resigned sigh, she shut down her computer. If the information broker came through with anything today, he’d contact her cell, she consoled herself as she locked the office and headed to her car. It was about time to take a little personal time for a task she’d been avoiding for too long.
Heart growing abruptly heavy in her chest, she headed out the door.
James never slept until noon. And he rarely put in only six hours at the office before heading back home again. Albeit six very productive hours.
It hadn’t hurt that several employees had been busy at the expo, and he had been relatively undisturbed while he was in his office.
The sight of a familiar car in the drive gave him pause. But it was the scene that awaited him when he opened the door into his den that made him immediately wary. Cade, Sam and Ana were gathered there, and from the tension in the room, their conversation hadn’t been pleasant.
Cautiously, like an animal testing the air, he stepped inside. “Sam. I didn’t know you were back.”
His younger brother came up to him, and the two slapped backs, a gesture of genuine affection. But the stoic expressions on his siblings’ faces were starting to worry him. Looking from one to the other, he observed, “What’s wrong? I know Jones is at the expo.” He frowned, looking from Cade to Sam. “Are Juliette and Shae all right?”
“They’re both fine,” Sam said, dropping his long frame into an easy chair by the desk. “It’s you we’re worried about.”
The tension in his chest eased, just a fraction. “Don’t be. It won’t be long before this guy is caught. Then we’ll all rest easier.” Easier, when he’d unmasked his parents’ murderer. When the person responsible for all their suffering was dead or behind bars.
“I’ll tell you what would have me resting easier,” Cade said evenly, strolling across the room toward him. “If you gave anyone in your family credit for having a brain. If you treated us with an ounce of the respect we give to you.”
A quick glance from one sibling to the other told him that they were all in agreement. It was time to tread carefully. “Why don’t you tell me what has all of you upset. We can talk about it.”
Cade stopped before him, rocking back on his heels, his jade eyes snapping with temper. “I suppose we could talk. Or I could just haul out some cuffs and throw your ass in jail for tampering with evidence.”
James took a deep breath, released it. “Ah.”
“Ah,” Cade mimicked. “I thought it was odd that Tori referred to the disks as plural, while you made it sound as if there was only one. Our tech squad was able to recover part of the images today. They also determined that three copies had been made. Now if I can trust you enough—” his voice dripped sarcasm “—to believe what you said about the killer taking one, that still leaves us one short.”
Through James’s wariness filtered real admiration. “That’s some pretty fast police work, son. We may make a techie out of you yet.”
Cade’s fists balled. Years of experience had James certain he was aching to take a swing at him.
Sam must have thought so, too, because he said warningly, “Let’s tone it down, shall we?”
Cade’s smile was lethal. “Shoot, if that tech work impresses you, you’ll really like the investigating I did into your relationship with Tori Corbett.”
James’s amusement immediately faded, to be replaced by a simmering anger. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You came to me, remember? A few weeks back you came to headquarters and asked me to look into finding one Rob Landry.” He let the words settle. “You never did tell me why you were looking for a P.I., and hell, I never asked. Until it became clear to all of us that you were up to your neck in trouble that you wouldn’t admit.”
Suddenly weary, James rubbed the back of his neck. He walked away from his brother, moved to the desk and leaned his hips against it.
“I should have known it was too good to be true,” Ana muttered, her eyes flashing at him. “I just knew you couldn’t have suddenly gotten the sense to start dating a real woman, instead of one of those empty-headed bimbos you usually favor. I just don’t know how you got her to go along with letting you pass her off as your girlfriend.”
“It wasn’t easy,” he said feelingly, remembering how Tori had balked at the prospect.
“It didn’t take long for Cade to start wondering why you were looking for Landry,” Sam put in. “But if it hadn’t been for Ana, I doubt we’d ever have known.”
James went still. The silence in the room stretched. “Known…what?”
“That you hired him twenty years ago to investigate our parents’ accident.”
The floor seemed to shift beneath his feet. Then it righted itself, and he sent a killing look at his baby sister. “You were in my files?” The defiant angle of her chin was his answer.
“Hell, why should your files be safe from her,” Sam asked feelingly. “Serves you right. You taught her everything she knows. She didn’t discover anything that you shouldn’t have told us yourself.”
“Such as…”
“We figure there’s a relationship between the threats you’ve been getting and the investigation Tori’s dad ran for you two decades ago,” Cade said flatly. “But we’re through with the guesswork. It’s time for you to level with us. For once in your life, have a little trust in your family.”
Genuinely bewildered, James looked from one of them to the next, saw the agreement on their faces. “I was just trying to clear this up without letting it hurt you all. If I had turned out to be wrong, there’d be no reason you’d ever have had to know about it.” God knew, there had been many times he’d wished he could be free of the doubts. The worry. The guilt.
“You’ll always be the oldest, but we’ve been adults for a long time, James.” Sam’s voice was sober, his gaze direct. “It’s about time you realized it. If you have reason to believe that accident was something else, you should have told us at the beginning. But barring that, you’ll tell us now.”
In an unspoken gesture of unity, the three had drifted to stand facing him together, a united front. And it was hard, much harder than he’d imagined, to start at the beginning. To watch their shock and despair when he starkly told them what he’d suspected twenty years earlier. The entire story about the threats. And about what Tori and he had discovered so far.