Her Only Desire

by Delilah Devlin

  “Who would I tell? Leon’s daddy? Leon himself, once he took his daddy’s place?” She shook her head. “It’s Bayou Vert. You know better than anyone someone placed like that can get away with murder.”

  Boone’s hands were fisted so tight, his biceps bulged. “Dammit, he might not have been tried, but I’d have known. Everyone would have known.”

  “But I didn’t know. Not for sure.” Her glance fell away again. “And then I found something…” Her stomach churned sickeningly, and she paused.

  Boone gripped her arm and turned her to face him. “What did you find?” he asked in a scary calm voice.

  “I have to show you.” She shrugged, her lips trembling. “I want to explain. You don’t know him…” Standing in his grip, she waited, hoping he wouldn’t press her for more. Not yet.

  His hand dropped. “Go get dressed, Tilly.”

  Her head shot up, eyes widening. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “This thing you’re going to show me, do you have it in the cottage?”

  She shook her head. “I buried it. We’d have to head into town.”

  “I’ll wake Serge.”

  Tilly shivered. The thought of heading to the secluded spot in the dark, all of his men simmering with judgment, left her breathless. Again, she shook her head. “If we head into town in the dead of night with your security team, folks there will think you’re launchin’ some sort of invasion.”

  His jaw clenched, a ripple working along the edge. “I’ve waited fifteen years for something to shake loose,” he said, his tone harsh and biting. His stare turned cold and hard. “I can’t believe you kept this to yourself.”

  He considered her secret a betrayal, what she’d feared most. Tears welled again. “I had my reasons.”

  His head tilted, eyes narrowing as he stared. “Someone close to you, then. Someone you care about.” His face turned to stone. “Your brother.”

  Panic clutched her chest and she shook her head. “It can’t be,” she said, then gasped, the sound more of a sob.

  Boone ignored her distress, walked down to Serge’s door, and rapped on the glass.

  Serge opened a moment later. “I heard. Already have Bear bringing the car around front.”

  Boone stomped back and stepped past her, entering the bedroom.

  Tilly eyed Serge, who shook his head, warning her to keep silent. She followed Boone inside, doing her best to stop the tears welling in her eyes from escaping.

  He switched on the light and began picking up her clothes and throwing them onto the bed. “Get dressed,” he ground out. “We go now.”

  Her steps leaden, she went to the bed and stripped off his shirt to dress in her rumpled clothing. Her hands shook as she pulled her skirt close. “I don’t have any underwear.”

  “Check the wardrobe in the closet.”

  She found a small pile of lingerie, all her size, and pulled on a pair beneath her short skirt. Last night, she’d been nervous about exposing her body. Now she’d revealed something even more shameful. She’d been dead wrong. Cruel, perhaps. And he and everyone around him would know she’d let him down.

  By his tone and his hard glares, she knew what she’d revealed had likely killed whatever had been growing between them. Her chest felt thick and sore. Nausea roiled in her belly. And her brother, Denny, was about to be pulled into the middle of this mess. She’d promised to protect him. And she’d failed. Her words had condemned her own brother.

  “Tilly.”

  Before she glanced his way, she closed the drawer and straightened her shoulders. She lifted her chin and forced her expression into something she hoped didn’t show her fear. Her eyes were dry, and they’d stay that way.

  They left the room, Serge falling in behind them. Linc’s door opened and another behind her, but she didn’t glance back to see who’d joined them. His friends were gathering. They’d watch his back.

  No mercy would be shown her. No matter how pleasant and easy they’d made last night’s experience. Their blood bond with Boone kept them loyal.

  Lights came on as they moved through the house. Although who was flipping switches, she couldn’t tell. Not anyone with them, because their footsteps never paused. The air was eerily quiet, other than the heavy tread of their boots and her own jagged breaths.

  Once in the garage, Boone turned to her. “We’ll need a shovel?”

  She nodded, her hands clasped into fists at her sides.

  He lifted his chin to Jonesy, who slipped out a door, then returned moments later holding a short military entrenching tool. Where he’d had it stashed and why, she wasn’t even sure, but the question floated through her mind. Maybe because she was in shock, her mind and body separating.

  The Bentley’s door opened, and Serge guided her into the back, taking a seat beside her. Boone sat in front beside Bear.

  As far away from her as he could get.

  She closed her eyes.

  “Where are we going, Ms. Floret?” Bear asked, his tone no different than any other day. Deadly. Emotionless.

  “Belle Tierre Road, just off of Main,” she said, her voice a little hoarse because her throat was tight with tension.

  The car reversed, another’s engine started. Two cars left the property, heading to Bayou Vert.

  Just four days. That’s all the time that had elapsed since the moment she’d met Boone, all the time it had taken for everything to unravel. In the cold silence, she had time to think.

  From the start, he’d played her. Recognized her weaknesses—her need for financial security to bring her brother home, her sexual inexperience. He’d used his considerable talent and expertise to seduce her.

  Likely he’d done it for the very reasons he’d given her at the start. He needed her to smooth his entrance into this end of the parish. Romancing her assured her enthusiastic cooperation. The fact she’d held a vital key to his investigation was a bonus—one he’d ruthlessly exploit. Not like they’d actually been falling in love.

  Only maybe she had been. Tilly stared out at the darkness and wondered where she’d be when the dust settled. Out of a job? Back to square one, but without a fallback, because Mae would never hire her back.

  Could she have screwed things up any worse? Was she making him a villain in her mind so that she could bear the pain of the break? Get angry enough not to cry? She dared a glance at Boone. His profile limned in dashboard light looked unfamiliar. Harsh lines, thin lips. This was the man who negotiated with terrorists and drug cartels. She’d been playing with his doppelgänger.

  Until they entered town, the silence remained unbroken. She scooted forward on her seat to direct Bear, resigned to helping rather than hindering at this point. The sooner this was over, the sooner she could hide herself away from everyone’s condemnation.

  “This is the turn,” she said as Belle Tierre came into view.

  Bear turned the car onto the narrow street, passing small square clapboard houses.

  “It’s on the right,” she said, then indicated with her finger. “But park by the trees up ahead.”

  The car pulled quietly to the side of the narrow, pitted track. No shoulder on this road. Trees and thick brush crowded the edge of the pavement.

  They exited the car, the three men holding flashlights. Boone handed one to her, not speaking. They waited until she got the hint that she should lead the way.

  She followed the road to a culvert, then stepped off to the side, trying not to think about the night creatures around them, and watching the ground for snakes and gators. About fifteen feet off the road, she halted at the base of a tall oak, moss draping its branches. She shone the light upward, noted the carvings she and Denny had made when they were younger. Their initials, and their dog’s.

  Then she walked around the base to the far side and knelt to push away leaves and fallen dried moss to get to the snug corner in the exposed roots. “Dig here,” she said, then pushed herself up and stepped away.

  Jonesy dug into the soft dir
t with his short shovel. He’d only turned two shovelfuls of ground when a metal clunk sounded. Tossing aside the tool, he went down on his knees and cleared the rest with his hands.

  When he pulled the small tin from the hole, Tilly felt a little dizzy, swaying on her feet.

  Lights shone on the tin. Jonesy pushed at the lid, opening it.

  Denny’s little bits glittered inside.

  “Jesus. Fuck.”

  The voice was Boone’s. He shouldered closer and knelt beside Jonesy, his hand shaking as he reached into the box and plucked the bracelet by its clasp to hold it up in the light. The little bells tinkled, not a clear, musical sound as in the past because they were encrusted with dirt and no longer shiny.

  “There’s dried blood on it,” Boone said, staring across at her, his gaze hard and accusing.

  Tilly’s eyes filled, and she whimpered, swaying. Her knees crumpled, and she went down. Crouched in front of him, she had no defense.

  “What is this box, Tilly?” Boone asked, his voice hoarse.

  “You know,” she rasped. “Denny’s treasures. Bits he found and kept. His p-pirate’s hoard.”

  “There’s blood on it. She was wearing it when she was murdered.”

  She shook her head, then raised it, her eyes pleading. “Maybe he found it somewhere else.”

  Boone gave a curt shake of his own. “Well, you don’t know that, do you? Didn’t you ask him about it?”

  “I couldn’t.” She knelt back and pushed a hand through her hair. “He tends to go on and on about things when they’re on his mind. I couldn’t ask and have him say anything to anyone else. He’s my brother,” she whispered over a clogged throat.

  Boone dropped the chain into the pocket of his shirt, then handed her the tin box.

  Pressing it against her chest, she dropped her head as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  * * *

  Boone stayed silent the whole way back to the estate. Excitement held his body rigid. The possibility that not all the blood would be Celeste’s made his stomach knot. The moment they got back, he’d have Bear take it to a lab for testing. It didn’t matter that even if they did find someone else’s DNA on the bracelet after all this time, they still couldn’t bring the killer to justice. But he’d know. And he’d make sure everyone fucking knew.

  The blight on his reputation, on his soul, would be erased.

  A soft sob coming from behind him interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced into the rearview mirror at Tilly.

  He could understand why she’d never mentioned her brother’s involvement. She loved him, but why not Leon? Had she been afraid that once she’d dredged up the past, new light would shine on all those surrounding Celeste?

  Her face was white, her eyes large. She was afraid, and up until this moment, he’d been glad. His thirst for vengeance demanded someone pay, but looking at her tortured expression made his chest hurt.

  They pulled in front of the Big House’s porch steps. He and his men exited the car, but Tilly still sat frozen in the back. The fury that had fueled his actions bled away, replaced by a sharp ache in the center of his chest. Blowing out a breath, he opened her door and extended his hand.

  She glanced at it but scooted across the seat without taking it. When she stood on the cobblestones, she turned and walked toward the path leading around the house. Toward the cottage. Motion-detecting lights he’d had installed the day before lit her way.

  He strode after her. “No, you don’t,” he said, catching her arm and drawing her around.

  She twisted her arm, trying to break his hold. “I’m tired.”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near a phone,” he said, refusing to let her go.

  Eyes narrowed to slits, her head tilted high. “Am I your prisoner now?”

  He tightened his grip. “Tilly, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “What way is it, Boone?” she said, her voice shredding with tears. “You have what you wanted from me. If it doesn’t give you all your answers, you’ll move on to someone else who might.” Mouth pressed into a tight line, she shrugged her arm again. “Let me go.”

  For a moment, Boone was confused by her anger. He knew he’d treated her harshly, but did she really think he’d only been using her to flush out the killer? Boone sighed. “I can’t let you go.”

  She stopped struggling but kept her head down. A slight tremble shook her frame. “Look, I’m tired. Dirty. I need to be alone.”

  Boone took a deep breath, wanting more than anything to bring her close for a hug. He sensed she wouldn’t accept it, that she was holding on to her composure by a thread. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “but you’re staying with me.”

  Her head came up, a smile twisting her mouth. “Maybe you should just go and call Leon. Let him hold me in a cell while you two figure out who killed y’all’s old girlfriend.”

  Boone’s lips pressed together. He was at a loss for what to say. Wasn’t even sure what the next steps should be. His mind was still reeling. “Tilly…” He tugged her closer.

  Her steps were wooden, her face turning, her gaze not meeting his. Her expression was shattered. Vacant.

  And he didn’t like how that made him feel. Didn’t like how he’d treated her since she’d dropped her little bomb. But from the moment she’d confessed her secret, his mind and body had been seized, his laser focus locked on his target. Her.

  He wasn’t proud of how he’d reacted, and maybe she’d never forgive him for what he was about to do with the knowledge she’d given him. But he never fought his instincts.

  The impulse was there, despite what his head was telling him, what his thirst for payback demanded. He pulled her closer, not stopping until her chest met his.

  Only when their bodies touched did he know what he needed. Tilly under him. As plain and simple as that: there’d be no easing the tension riding his body until he was deep inside her.

  “Boone, don’t,” she said, tears thickening her voice.

  “Look at me.”

  Keeping her face averted, she shook her head.

  Boone crooked his finger and tipped her chin toward him until the lights shining from the porch gleamed on the tears still trailing down her cheeks.

  The weight in his chest grew heavier. Boone stood for a moment, a chill of realization washing over his skin. There was something he wanted more than revenge. Something he didn’t think he could live without. He wasn’t going to put a name to the emotion welling up inside him. So again, he followed his gut. “I need you, Tilly. Don’t give up on me just yet.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tilly didn’t know exactly how Boone had done it, but she was grateful just the same. When he’d asked her to trust him, something inside her had given. Tears had dried. She’d nodded, relieved he wasn’t that stranger anymore: the one who’d frightened her before.

  In his eyes, she saw the same confusion she felt deep inside. They should be enemies, standing on opposite sides, but both yearned to find a way to make this relationship work. For now, she’d trust he would find a way to make this right for both of them.

  As natural as breathing, she’d let him lead her inside to his bedroom and strip her, raising her arms when he asked, stepping out of her clothing when the rest of it fell.

  Clasping her hand, he’d led her to the bed and had her sit on the edge and watch as he undressed. She’d grown painfully aroused watching, admiring the body exercise and discipline had honed.

  Then he’d bent and reached to her side, snagging a pillow and dropping it in front of where he stood.

  Inside, she melted. Gratitude and some poignant, fragile emotion crept into her heart. Perhaps it was odd, but what he wanted didn’t feel like a selfish act on his part. He was making himself vulnerable to her, offering her another “lesson,” proving to her he wasn’t ready to toss her to the curb. He needed her. With her gaze lowered, she slipped to the floor, knelt in the center of the pillow, and leaned toward his cock.

  As she rubbed h
er cheek on him and breathed in his tangy scent, she acknowledged she’d needed this reminder of how different they were—in physical form, anyway. All his strength and power were reflected in this bold, thrusting part of his male body. Satin skin cloaking a hard-as-steel rod.

  There was comfort to be found in that masculine strength. Comfort he gave effortlessly, or perhaps in spite of himself. He’d given her so many gifts of delight and fantasy, he’d taught her a little about herself that she hadn’t been aware existed.

  He’d asked for her trust. And she knew, deep inside, he wouldn’t have offered it if he didn’t already trust her. What to do with that trust—well, that was the big question. For now, she could return a little of what he’d given her. She’d give him submission…and pleasure.

  She warmed her hands between her thighs while she nuzzled his sex, giving his cock occasional kisses as she rubbed against him like a kitten. When she was sure the chill that had kept her hands shaking earlier was gone, she slid her hands up his taut thighs, inching her fingers slowly toward his balls. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest, the anticipation driving her wild.

  His feet scooted farther apart, and she smiled to herself. She cupped him in her palm and hefted, liking their weight and firmness inside his bare, velvety sac. When she leaned toward him, she heard the soft whoosh of an inhalation.

  Boone might like to think he was in control, but right now he was open and vulnerable to her touch. It was a heady thought, but one that didn’t last long. She opened her mouth and sucked first one, then both hard orbs inside.

  She lovingly caressed them with her tongue, following their curves then gripping them both as she gently tugged. Following her instincts to explore, she learned what pleased him by the slight tremble of his thighs or the raspy catch of his breaths.

  While his arousal steadily escalated, so did hers, causing her belly to tighten, her chest to rise and fall a little faster.

  Fingers dug into her scalp and pulled, and she reluctantly released him, slicking her tongue upward, tracing the veins carved on the sides of his shaft, and then lapping widely down to begin the ascent again.

  A chuckle rocked him, and she opened her eyes, gave him a wink, and then gripped his shaft in her hands and eased it downward so that she could capture the soft cushiony cap in her mouth. Although the head was wider than her tongue, she found it oddly pleasurable to swirl and swirl around it. Still exploring, she teethed the cap gently and chewed, not deep enough to hurt and only on the spongy surface. With a gentle pressure of her thumbs, she widened his eyelet hole and slid the tip of her tongue inside, rocking her head shallowly forward and back as she stabbed inside. Every action felt natural, easy. As she gave him pleasure, her own increased, spiraling inside her, warming her, drugging her. Only the slight pressure of his fingers guided her, and she learned another important lesson. As his hips pumped slowly forward and back, heat pulsed through her body, centering deep in her belly.