More Than Gold (Capitol Chronicles Book 3)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Morgan still stared at him as if she were waiting for him to make a decision. Jack had no choice. He wanted her as much now as he had in the past, moments ago, ages ago, a lifetime ago. He leaned forward, removing the small space that separated them and pressed his mouth to hers. No part of her body touched him, only her mouth. Sensation ballooned inside him and the heat they seemed to generate like the beginnings of a nuclear explosion sprang up, surrounding them with its swirling heat

  Tenderly his mouth brushed over hers, seeking, testing, tasting what was his for the taking. But Jack wouldn't take. He wouldn't plunder. Morgan was strong, but she was also fragile. Contradictions raged through him as his tongue moved past her teeth and he drank of her well. Where had she been all his life? How could he know she existed in his world and not fight the forces keeping him from her? He wanted to grab and pull her against him, but he held back.

  He raised his hands and touched her face, still keeping their bodies apart. The fire around them glowed red, taking the air between them and creating a vacuum that sought to pull them together. Jack kept them in place, positioning his mouth over hers and accepting the slow torture that surrounded his heart like an emotional noose. He never knew his life was incomplete until this moment. With this woman he understood the forces of the universe. His previous experiences had lacked the understanding that she was where his life headed. That around them were an infinite number of circles, no beginning, no end, only the continual revolution that brought them together. Running away made no sense. He couldn't run from the emotion, from the torture, from the love.

  Jack took the step then. His heart nearly burst as years of running away from her slammed into him like the ghost of himself finally meeting his own destiny. His hands moved to Morgan's waist and he pulled her against him. She wore only her shirt, which hung to her thighs. He slipped his hands under it to feel her skin. It was hot and soft and his hands melted into her. He groaned at the sensation that arrowed through him when her hands slowly ran up his chest and connected behind his neck.

  Still he kept the pace slow, although the effort was herculean. She was a gymnast. Her body had been sculpted through exercises, shaped to give it the strength it needed to perform on the various pieces of equipment, but Jack didn't think of that. His thought was of the way her frame fit into his, as if some divine hand had found the separate pieces of a mold and brought the two of them together to form a whole.

  Jack felt whole, complete. He walked Morgan backward to the SUV. At the open door, he lifted his head and looked at her. Her face was soft, and a mini-smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Jack's heart constricted. She climbed into the SUV and lay on the sleeping bag. It was darker inside since he'd parked it in a secluded area and concealed it with tree branches. He could still see Morgan. His eyes read every inch of her body. Everything about her was aerodynamically wrong for gymnastics. She was too tall, her breasts too large, but Jack loved the combination. It was perfect for him. Jack pushed her T-shirt up one inch at a time as he kissed the silky skin it uncovered. She was a wondrous map which he planned to explore. He heard her gasp when his mouth touched her. Her hands caught his shoulders and she tried to draw him upward. He wanted to go, wanted to delve into her, but he forced himself to savor the moment.

  There had been an explosion earlier tonight. He wanted to commit every moment to memory this time. He wanted to know the sweetness of the torture she went through, carry them both to the brink of madness before consummation. He only hoped he could do it. His own body was rock hard. Blood pulsed through him like an out-of-control cyclone.

  He pulled Morgan up and removed the T-shirt. She kissed his bare chest, running her hands slowly over his skin, leaving trails that could have been molten flame in her wake. Jack clamped down on a groan. Her hands came down. When she reached the top of his jeans, he knew their power, knew what would happen if she took him in those wickedly wonderful hands again.

  He kissed her as they sat, his fingers exploring her back and taking pleasure as she arched toward him whenever he moved his hands over her. He spanned her small waist and moved upward to cup her breasts. She opened her legs then and moved to sit over him. No space separated them, not even the absent light could have sought space. The kiss went deeper as her mouth demanded more. He shifted from side to side, kissing her, tasting her, devouring her mouth like a long drink of cold water when the temperature soared over the ninety degree mark. He wanted more and more of her. Kisses weren't enough.

  Jack pressed her back and removed his jeans. He slipped one of the condoms over him and joined with her. Jack heard her sigh of pleasure as he settled between her legs.

  God! This is heaven, he though.

  Everything Jack had thought about taking his time was lost the moment his body connected to hers. Pure sensation, lust, wanting, need, love took over and he could think of nothing other than the combined pleasure that two people could give each other. Not any two people, specifically Morgan Kirkwood and Jack Temple. Her body was made for his. His blood pounded and his heart beat and his senses told him she was different, more than any woman he'd ever slept with. Making love was something that didn't happen often, and while he'd thought he'd made love before, nothing compared to the woman in his arms, in his bed and in his body. She'd insinuated herself inside him, stolen into his pores when he wasn't looking and taken up residence. She was here for the duration. There was no going back after this.

  Morgan was the Rolls-Royce of his life and he thanked the heavens he'd found her. He called her name as a sudden rush like an approaching tsunami pounded within him. Lightning flashed inside his head and drove him like a madman. Her body accepted the force of his as the wave topped him and crashed. His release was like falling from an airplane. The ground rushed upward but the parachute saved him and gently set him on the ground.

  Morgan's arms were his lifeline. She hugged him, slipped her sensual hands over his heated skin, as she rained kisses over his face. Jack was as weak as a man recovering from a long illness, but he knew the Morgan sickness which had invaded his body was something that had no cure.

  And he didn't want one.

  ***

  The house glittered white in the sunshine. It was one of those monstrosities left over from the Jazz Age or some age that never seemed to fall completely out of style. The rich passed them around like Faberge eggs, changing the interior once a decade to make it seem as if it was part of the present. The place should have been demolished years ago and a shopping mall put up, but it had survived to be decorated according to the taste of its present owner, who favored a Far Eastern motif. All the windows and doors had been covered with opaque sliding panels. He always felt as if he were entering a tomb when the doors slid in place behind him.

  There was practically no furniture in any of the downstairs rooms. Some of them had a couple of steps leading down to a floor of gravel, which was carefully raked for evenness. Trees of odd shapes grew inside and appeared green no matter what the time of year. It was as if the owner never wanted the outside world to touch him, so he built his own world within the walls. Never having been above the first floor, he wondered if there were beds or if some other unexpected forms were used there.

  He stopped the car at the end of the driveway, which stretched three miles from the road to culminate in a circle around a fountain. Atop it stood golden dragons spouting water in the four directions. A long sigh escaped him as he got out of the car. He hated coming here.

  He got out of his car in the circular driveway and looked at the sky. The day was clear, warm, a hint of the humidity that could descend on the place without warning was in the air, but he wasn't uncomfortable in his suit and tie. The water dragons spouted at the relentless sky, arcing rainbows in the light.

  His steps were heavy approaching the door. He had bad news and he never knew how it would be received, but whether there was quiet or explosion, he knew underneath was a seething heart that had no compassion, no conscience. He had little either, but
he did draw the line at cruelty to animals and children. He'd never be involved in any operation that preyed on the innocent and defenseless. Children should be protected and maybe they wouldn't grow up to be like him.

  He rang the doorbell. It was immediately opened by a maid who said nothing. She admitted him and showed him to one of the downstairs rooms. He'd been in this one before. This one had a floor, instead of a rock garden.

  "What do you mean they got away?" The old man received the news badly. He slammed his fist down on the oriental antique desk. A jade pencil cup danced in a circle on the black polished surface and a carved-ivory-handled letter opener jumped out of its tray to lay flat on the wood. "She's an amateur."

  "I doubt amateur is the word to apply to Ms. Kirkwood. She was ready for us. She'd planned her escape. Had a way out fully orchestrated and she executed it beautifully. Exactly like she did in that prison twelve years ago."

  "Maybe," the other man said. He got up from his desk and came around to face his adversary. "What about the Indiana house and the highway? She couldn't have had a plan there."

  "She had help there and the man she's with is no amateur."

  He secretly admired Morgan Kirkwood. She was a fighter, determined to stay alive, and so far she was succeeding.

  "Who is he?" the man demanded.

  They didn't know, but he wouldn't admit that. "As far as we can tell he's an agent. What branch, what government, isn't clear. Ms. Kirkwood is as patriotic as they come. I'd say he's U.S. He could be a cop or military, even FBI. No one else could have pulled off his stunts without a high degree of skill, training and experience."

  "I don't care who he is." The man's hands disappeared inside the huge sleeves of his robe. He wore these garments inside the house. During the rare times he left this house, he wore the standard suits of the western world. But inside this sanctuary, the outside world didn't exist until someone brought it in. Unfortunately, he was that messenger. His voice was low. He had to strain to hear him clearly. "I want them both found and then I never want anyone to hear from them again. Do I make myself clear?"

  The other man nodded.

  "Either she's dead or you are."

  ***

  Nothing was more erotic than a woman sleeping, Jack thought as he watched Morgan. A long T-shirt, exposed legs, just the shadow of promise, revealing skin beneath the fabric. The bandage on her leg remained intact, but in no way did it obscure the shapeliness of form, balance, and proportion that defined not only her body, but also her mind.

  Jack's body got hard.

  The sun had risen, but he hadn't disturbed Morgan. He'd left her to go for a run, returning to find her still asleep. Since then he could only sit and watch her. The covering over the windows he'd used to camouflage the SUV kept the inside dim. He reached over and smoothed the hair away from her face. She stirred, but didn't awaken. He let her sleep. They should leave soon, but he enjoyed looking at her. It had been too long since he'd simply looked at a woman. He'd known women who scrambled to get to other places and women who cooked breakfast in the morning. He'd known women on assignments, when time was of the essence, but he'd never run with a woman and he'd never felt the way he did with anyone, except Morgan.

  She appeared vulnerable in sleep, like a child needing protection. Jack was surprised by the swell to his heart when he thought of her.

  She reached up and touched his face, smoothing her fingers between his eyes. "You're frowning," she said. Her voice was the morning-after-sex voice. It grabbed him and wove a spell that told him he wanted her again. "What were you thinking?''

  Jack took her hand and kissed her fingertips. One finger slipped into his mouth and he sucked it. "I think you sleep beautifully," he answered.

  Morgan smiled and raised herself up enough to slip her arm around his neck. Jack held her, closing his eyes. He drank in her scent, the smell of her hair, the warm cologne of her body, the lingering after effects of a sexual encounter. He wanted her, not just now, but for always. Yet he knew it couldn't be. Holding her a second longer and squeezing her to him, as if to imprint a memory he could take out and hold in the coming years, he pushed her back.

  "We have to go soon. You must be hungry."

  "Your hair's wet," she said.

  "I found a stream about fifty yards from here. If you need some time alone it's over there." He pointed toward the front of the vehicle.

  Morgan left after pulling on her clothes. Jack got their food out from the previous night. He cleared the sleeping bags, feeling the warmth of Morgan's body in the blankets she'd left behind. He wanted to hold onto it, keep it for the future, but like a soft wind it would escape. He set the salads out and pulled drinks from the cooler Ben had left for him. She was gone a long time. Jack was about to go after her when he glanced up and saw her returning. He stopped still, straightening from his task.

  She walked slowly, coming toward him. Her leg must not have hurt much any longer, for her limp was less evident than it had been the previous night. For a moment everything slowed down and he watched openly as she approached. She mesmerized him. He couldn't move his gaze away, not even able to pretend he wasn't looking. He stared—outright.

  A single tube of lipstick and a comb and brush had transformed her from the country girl, all wheat and morning sunshine, into a glowing, raving beauty. Her eyes seemed brighter, larger. Her mouth wore the dark color and her face radiated an inner glow. He wanted to go to her, take her into his arms and make love to her again. The night had been more than he'd imagined life offered. The two of them had scaled mountains, soared into the heavens beyond the moon until they entered that corporeal area where time and space ceased existence, where only the few and the very rare are ever allowed. Yet with her, with Morgan Kirkwood, he'd found it. Together, they had crossed over the line, past the spot marked with the X and discovered something so beautiful that defining it wasn't necessary. They'd experienced it and to recall it they only needed to touch or feel or think and it would be there.

  Jack kept watching her walk toward him. Her arms swung slowly forward and back at her sides. Her head moved and her hair swung about her face like a focus ring that kept him trained on that one area of the landscape. He knew never again would he be able to look at that place where they'd gone as a couple, a unit, a set, two lovers alone. Without her he could never go there and the urge to experience it over and over was towering. He wanted her with him every day, every step of the way, for always.

  At that moment Jack knew he was in love with Morgan. She complemented him, brought out qualities that were more than a job, even one where he cared about the principles behind it. She showed him lands he'd never expected to see, took him to heavenly mountains he didn't know could be viewed by mortal man. He wanted her again, wanted that feeling again, that ultimate trip, a journey that could only be made with her.

  Nearly incapable of speech when she stood in front of him, he couldn't resist the urge to touch her. His hands brushed her arms lightly and he stepped close enough that she had to look up at him. He leaned toward her gently, holding himself in the greatest check he'd ever done. Then he kissed her, tenderly, cradling her in his arms, hold her like a work of art so fine and so delicate that she required the greatest care.

  Jack wanted her again, wanted to make love. He knew tomorrow was their enemy and that time for them had become finite. He crushed her against him, feeling the blood in his body rioting through his system, knowing the imprint of her smaller frame outlined against his.

  He was only a thread away from undressing her when he heard her stomach growl. The sound was like a huge hammer striking a boulder. He couldn't remember the last time she ate and he knew her migraines would return if she didn't get some food. With an effort greater than the forces needed to pull down a mountain, he slid his mouth from hers, but kept her in his arms for just a little longer. He inhaled, knowing that even if he were blind he'd be able to pick her out of a crowd by the distinctive fragrance that spoke her name. It was as identifi
able as fingerprints. Slowly he pulled back, letting his hands run down her arms to her hands. He held them a moment and smiled, then stepped back, allowing the space between to calm his chiming nerves.

  He reached into the SUV and picked up the plastic containers of food. She curled her feet under her as she leaned against the vehicle wall and took the salad they'd left untouched the night before. Jack went to the small cookstove and poured two Styrofoam cups of coffee. Giving her one, he sat opposite her with his own meal. The dressing had made the lettuce soggy, but they ate it anyway. Morgan drank deeply of the juice and coffee. Jack carefully opened a single packet of sugar and dumped it into his cup. Then he slipped the torn-off top into the bottom and dropped both into a small plastic bag. Morgan watched him. He didn't meet her eyes, because he didn't want her to see what was in his.

  "Jack, where were you born?'' Morgan asked as she finished her salad and set the plastic container aside.

  It wasn't the first time Jack had heard the question, and it usually came from a woman. The planted story Jack usually told sprang quickly to his memory. He had an alias, many of them, and reading the situation or direct orders usually told him which one to use. Morgan wasn't an order and she'd proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wasn't just a job.

  He couldn't give her the company line and he couldn't wave her off with one of his fabricated aliases. All that remained was the truth. She deserved that. She'd had so many lies in her life. He couldn't heap another one on the tottering pile.

  "Lexington, Kentucky," he answered with the truth.

  "We're not that far from Kentucky. Do your parents still live there?"