“No time like the present,” she mumbled to herself, as she hopped off the bed and rummaged around in her closet, looking for just the right thing to wear. Hmm-mm. What did a lady wear to a seduction? Ah-ha! She had found it—a lightweight, gold silk robe. She had bought the item on a whim, loving the look and the feel of it. But she’d never worn it. There hadn’t been an appropriate occasion. Not until now.
Lane hurriedly stripped out of her cotton slacks and blouse, then removed her underwear and slipped into the robe. After belting it tightly, she left her room and walked down the hall. Although Johnny Mack was able to be up and about, the doctor insisted that he get plenty of rest, so he often stayed in his room until ten or after most mornings. She opened his door and peered inside. With the wooden window shutters closed, the room lay in semidarkness. Pinpricks of sunlight escaping from between the slats spotlighted tiny, dancing dust particles in the air.
Wearing only a pair of old, faded jeans, Johnny Mack lay sprawled across the half-canopy bed, atop the crumpled tan sheets and striped coverlet. He rested flat on his stomach, with his eyes closed and his breathing steady and even.
She crept inside, and with every step she took, she expected him to open his eyes. But he didn’t. The closer she got to the bed, the more erratic her heart beat. She felt like a brazen hussy. Attempting a seduction was totally out of character for her. But that had been the old Lane, the sexually repressed Lane, the Lane who had buried her sexual desires years ago. But this was the new Lane, the Lane who was Johnny Mack Cahill’s lover.
As she stood beside the bed, she gazed at this magnificent man, taking inventory from the top of his head to the heels of his big feet. Broad shoulders. Wide back, marred only by the healing scar left by the surgery to remove the bullet that had almost killed him. Large, muscular arms. Slim hips. Tight butt. And long, long legs. His skin was naturally dark, but recent days spent in the sun by the pool had burnished his flesh to a light copper shade.
He was a beautiful man.
There had been a time when he had been a beautiful boy, but back then his beauty had been, as the old saying goes, only skin deep. He had been a wild, untamed young man filled with anger and rage and a need to strike out at everyone around him. He’d done some almost unforgivable things in the past. But she had forgiven him—always. Because she had loved him with the foolish ardor of a teenager. The fact that he had been the town bad boy had simply added to his appeal. As an adult she had come to realize that women were usually drawn to the rascals, the rogues, the hell-raisers. The men who beat their chests and roared at the top of their lungs. As a general rule, such men made unforgettable lovers, but bad life mates.
Lane eased to the very edge of the bed and lifted her hand over his back. Dare she touch him and arouse the sleeping beast?
Johnny Mack was still Johnny Mack, and yet he was a very different man today. The outward beauty went beyond the surface. This wonderful man lying before her was as beautiful inside, in his heart and soul, as he was in physical appearance. He had matured into a fine man, into a decent human being. Although the untamed elements of his personality still existed, he was no longer unredeemable.
When she leaned closer, her hand within inches of caressing him, Johnny Mack flipped over, grabbed her and tumbled her onto the bed with him. Lane cried out, startled by his lightning-fast maneuver. Pinning her hands above her head, he straddled her hips.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said breathlessly as she gazed up into his black eyes.
“And I was beginning to wonder just how long you were going to stand there before you made your move.” He gazed down at her and smiled, that wicked, bone-melting grin that had been the ruin of many a good woman.
“What move?” She playfully twisted beneath him.
He laughed, a low, throaty chuckle. “Don’t play innocent with me.” Still gripping her wrists with one hand, he reached down with his other hand to loosen the belt of her silk robe.
Lane sucked in her breath when her robe slipped just a fraction, parting in the middle enough to reveal a line of flesh from chest to belly button. Johnny Mack lowered his hips so that his erection pressed against her mound.
He groaned. “Where’s Lillie Mae?”
“At the grocery store.” Lane wiggled, and her robe opened another couple of inches, enough so that the material barely covered her nipples.
“Then, we’re alone in the house?”
“All alone.”
He chuckled again and bent his head to kiss her. Demanding. A release of barely constrained desire. An eruption of need too long denied. She squirmed and bucked and moaned, but he held her hands tightly, above her head, refusing to allow her to touch him. And she needed to touch him. Wanted to touch him. Had to touch him or she would lose her mind.
When he finally released her mouth, she sucked in air, as did he. They stared at each other, their eyes bright with passion.
“Let me go.” She struggled, trying to free her bound wrists. “Please, Johnny Mack. I wanted to make love to you. I had planned to…. Since you’re still recuperating, I thought I would give you pleasure without risking your getting hurt and reopening your incision. And then you grabbed me and—”
He silenced her with a maneuver that created shivers deep within her. His nose shoved aside her robe and revealed one pebble-hard nipple. “Look at you,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “Your nipples are puckered and begging for my mouth.”
“You have to be careful. You aren’t completely recovered yet.”
Using his index finger, he traced a line from her throat to her navel. She drew in a deep breath. Just the merest touch and she was lost. His finger slid farther, parting her robe as it went south and exposed, inch by inch, more and more of her flesh. When the robe parted completely and fell to either side of her body, his hand cupped her mound, and she lifted her hips to accommodate him.
In self-defense, before she lost complete control, she made a bold move. “You can’t make love to me.”
“What?” His gaze met hers, a startled expression on his face.
“I want to make love to you. I’ve never…. I need to do this,” she told him. “I’ve dreamed of looking at and touching and tasting every inch of your body. You have no idea how much I want to—”
“Stop talking and start showing me.”
With that devilish grin making him totally irresistible, Johnny Mack released her hands, then shoved himself up and off her. Before she could grab him, he rose to his feet and shucked off his jeans. The sight of him standing there in all his male glory took Lane’s breath away. He was big, hard and dangerously male. When she reached out for him, he avoided her touch, then crawled into bed beside her and folded his arms behind his head. Pivoting around so that she faced him, Lane saw that he was spread out before her, waiting.
Now what? a nagging inner voice asked. This is what you wanted, what you’ve dreamed of. He’s yours to do with as you will. A shudder of pure sexual energy surged through her. She sensed a heady feeling of power.
Reversing their former positions, Lane straddled his hips and lowered herself just enough to kiss him. She started with his forehead and soon covered his face with tiny pecks. Zeroing in on his mouth, she nibbled and sucked and finally invaded. He responded by engaging her tongue in a damp, frenzied duel. When she ended the kiss, she moved her lips down his chin, down his neck, over his chest and stopped when she reached one tiny male nipple. She laved first one nipple and then the other, while she laid her hand over one of his hairy thighs and began caressing him. Slowly, maddeningly, she touched him everywhere.
He lay beneath her, silent and barely moving, but she noted that he was gripping the bedspread with both hands. The more she kissed and touched, the hotter the fire within her grew. She ached unbearably as moisture collected between her legs, between the hot folds of her femininity. But she wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t seek her own pleasure. Not yet. Not when the pièce de résistance lay before her. Untouched. Unconquer
ed. Begging for her attention.
She spread his legs and eased her open palms down his hips. Then she brought her hands together in the center of his body, threading her fingers through the black hair that surrounded his jutting sex. Touching his scrotum gently, she caressed his balls all over, then leisurely turned her attention to his penis, pumping him slowly, rhythmically. She wet her fingertips and petted the bulbous tip, then ran a moist streak from top to shaft.
By his hard, deep groans, she could tell that he was finding it difficult to remain in control. When she replaced her hand with her mouth, Johnny Mack’s hips came up off the bed. To soothe him, she returned her attention to his upper body. After he settled back down, she eased slowly, attentively south again. Several times she repeated the back and forth, upper and lower torso torture until she felt heady with power.
As Lane licked his shaft, she circled the root and slipped her hand up and down, adding just the right amount of pressure. He grew bigger and harder. He moaned and shivered.
“Ah, babe, you’re killing me!” He threaded his fingers through her hair, then grasped her head and held her in place.
She licked and sucked, bringing him almost to the brink, then released him. Using his hand on her head, he urged her to return to her task. And she did. Only this time she slid her mouth from the tip to the base of his penis. With each undulating movement she tightened her mouth. As if he were afraid she would stop, he pushed her head back and forth, trying to take control, fucking her mouth. But her lips, her tongue, her adoration of his sex gave her complete power over him. And when he came, jetting his release, she savored the pleasure she had given him.
As she released him and licked her lips, his animalistic groans excited her. She crawled over him and snuggled to his side. He lifted her just enough to wrap his arm around her.
After kissing her forehead, he smoothed his hand down over one breast and then the other. She shuddered when he pinched her nipples.
“You’re a wild woman,” he said. “My wild woman.
Bracing himself on his elbow, he leaned over and suckled her breast. Tingles of pleasure radiated from her nipples to her core. While he continued laving her breasts, he maneuvered his hand down over her belly and between her thighs. Using his fingertips, he petted her, his strokes gradually becoming more intense. Tightly wound tension broke free, into orgasmic fragments as Lane climaxed. Quickly. With earth-shattering intensity. As sensation after sensation sizzled through Lane’s body, Johnny Mack rose up and moved over her. While the aftershocks still rippled within her, he thrust deeply, to the hilt. Big. Hard. Hot.
He possessed her completely. Leaving no room for anything or anyone else. And Lane knew that this—being Johnny Mack’s woman—was what she had been born for.
Will watched his parents sitting together on the sofa and suspected they would like to be alone together. Although he had never actually been in love himself, he figured he was old enough to know the signs. His mama and Johnny Mack were mooning over each other, exchanging odd looks and quick little smiles. And he realized that they were trying awfully hard not to touch each other.
He could go up to his room and leave them alone. He doubted they would even know he was gone. But just as he started to get up, Johnny Mack spoke.
“I’ve got cabin fever this evening. How about since it’s stopped raining, we take a walk down by the river?”
“Great idea,” Lane replied. “After that big supper Lillie Mae cooked, I could use a walk.”
Johnny Mack stood, held out his hand to Lane and pulled her up onto her feet. They gazed at each other for a brief moment; then Lane turned to Will.
“Want to go with us?” she asked.
“Nah, I think I’ll watch TV. You two go ahead.”
“If Lillie Mae gets home from her prayer meeting before we get back, tell her not to worry, that we’ll be in the house by dark,” Lane said.
“I’ll tell her. Maybe she won’t worry too much.” Will shook his head. “She’s convinced that whoever shot Johnny Mack is going to try again.”
“Lillie Mae worries too much,” Johnny Mack said. “But she has a point. Until we find out who killed Kent, we’re all in danger. Somebody wants your mother convicted of a crime she didn’t commit. They want me to stop nosing around and put an end to the private investigation. But I figure they know by now that even if I’m dead, they can’t stop the truth from coming out. Eventually.”
“If the person who murdered Kent knows that I’ve gotten some of my memory back, that it’s only a matter of time before I remember who was hiding in the shrubbery, then I guess that makes me a prime target, too, huh?”
“Oh, Will.” Lane sighed. “No one outside the family knows about your sessions with Dr. Agee.”
“Maybe not, but whoever was hiding in the shrubbery that day knows I saw them. I’m surprised they haven’t—”
“As long as no one else knows that your memory is returning, then you’re safe,” Johnny Mack said. “But I’ve been considering hiring private security for all of us, when Buddy pulls his officers off duty. I was surprised that he posted someone at the hospital and then here at the house for the past two weeks.”
“Do you think we need bodyguards?” Lane asked.
Johnny Mack grabbed her hand and entwined their fingers. “Yes, I do. And to be honest, I’ve already contacted Wyatt Foster, and he’s making arrangements to send some trained professionals for around-the-clock surveillance of the house. And I’d like someone close to Will at all times, to watch over him.” Johnny Mack glanced at Will. “Is that going to be all right with you?”
“You really do think I’m in danger, don’t you? You believe that whoever shot you might try to kill me.”
“I don’t want to take any chances. We’re dealing with a murderer. Someone beat Kent to death. And I’m fairly certain that someone killed Jackie and made it look like a suicide. If I hadn’t pulled through, I would have been murder victim number three. Someone like that won’t hesitate to kill again if they feel threatened.”
“And my regaining my memory is a major threat if the killer finds out,” Will said. “Are you sure it’s safe for you and Mama to take a walk?”
“I think we’re relatively safe in the daylight,” Johnny Mack assured him. “Our killer probably isn’t going to take any chances on giving himself away and being seen, especially not by the policeman out front. If and when he makes his next move, he’ll probably do it at night.”
“He killed Kent in broad daylight,” Will reminded them.
“Yeah, but there wasn’t a policeman keeping an eye on the house that day, was there?”
Will shrugged. “You two go take your walk. It’ll be sundown in thirty minutes or so.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?” Lane smiled warmly.
“Nah. Y’all go on.”
Will picked up the remote and switched on the television, then waved goodbye as his parents exited the room. Just as they walked through the door, Will noticed Johnny Mack slip his arm around Lane’s waist.
Did he like seeing his mother and Johnny Mack together? Was he comfortable with the thought that something permanent might come out of their relationship? Yeah, he supposed he was okay with it. After all, he couldn’t remember ever seeing his mother so totally alive, certainly not when she had been married to Kent. No matter how happy she had been at times, he’d known something was fundamentally wrong. Even as a kid he had sensed that something wasn’t quite right with his mother. Now he knew what had been missing from her life all those years. Johnny Mack Cahill. He doubted his mother could ever be truly happy without the man.
And it wasn’t as if he hated Johnny Mack anymore. Heck, he didn’t even dislike him. Whatever he had done in the past, Johnny Mack was certainly trying his best to make amends now. You had to admire a guy who could own up to his mistakes and make a real effort to right the wrongs in his life.
The telephone ringing broke Will’s concentration and released him fr
om thoughts about his father and the man’s relationship with him and his mother. He got up, leaned over and picked up the cordless phone from where it had been left on the coffee table.
“Hello,” he said.
“Oh, thank goodness you answered the phone, Will.”
“Aunt Mary Martha?”
“I need your help.” His aunt’s voice quivered with excitement. “Please, come over to the house. Meet me outside in the garden.”
The last time he had seen his aunt in the hospital, after her suicide attempt, she’d been reticent and regretful, but now she was talking hurriedly, her words practically running together. “Where’s Grandmother? Does she know you’re calling me? And don’t you have a new nurse? Where is she?”
“Mother and James are having dinner,” Mary Martha said. “I had mine on a tray in my room. And that cow of a nurse Mother hired ate with me, and after she stuffed herself, she fell asleep in her chair. I slipped down the back stairs and crept by Mrs. Russell into the living room. That’s where I’m calling you from now. I must see you, Will. It’s urgent.”
“What’s wrong? Why do you need to see me?”
“It’s about your father…about Kent. He isn’t dead, Will. Your father isn’t dead.”
“Now, Aunt Mary Martha, you know he is. You went to his funeral. Don’t you remember?”
“That wasn’t Kent in the casket. It was someone who just looked like him. I tell you, Will, your father is alive. And now the three of us can be together, the way we were supposed to be.”
Will groaned silently. His poor aunt’s mental condition seemed to seesaw from a theatrical high to an equally melodramatic low. Being delusional wasn’t anything new for her. Ever since he was a small child, he had felt compelled to pacify her, something his father had encouraged him to do.
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