First, he needed to know who she was, what she wanted, what she already knew. He needed to know if she was a threat or a minor inconvenience.
The lights of her vehicle flashed as she approached it. A nearby shadow separated in two and the silhouette of a man dressed in khaki raced for the CRV. Even as the shadow-man opened the rear passenger door, he looked toward the building—and the light—just for a second. But a second was long enough to get a quick look at his face.
Brayden Sloane!
What the hell was the former security chief doing on the grounds? Where had he been for nearly two weeks? What did he know about what had happened in Lab 7?
His stomach cramped and acid reflux soured his mouth. Sloane’s reappearing was an unexpected complication. When the security expert had disappeared, he’d assumed the man had gone off and died somewhere. Maybe drowned in Chesapeake Bay, only to be washed up in some remote area at a future date.
He hadn’t expected this.
His jaw clenched tight as he helplessly watched the vehicle head for the security station.
He might have believed Claire to be an inconvenience, but Sloane was a liability, one that couldn’t go unchecked. And if they were a team, working together against him, they were doubly dangerous to his plans.
He would have to take care of them both.
But first he had an experiment to conduct.
On himself.
Chapter Four
Waving to the security guard as she drove out of the Cranesbrook lot, Claire couldn’t believe her own audacity. Bray was scrunched down across the back seat floor, at least half convinced they were man and wife.
What had she been thinking?
She hadn’t been. The lie had been a gut reaction, one meant to keep Bray with her so she could get information out of him. She’d even switched her class ring to her left hand, as if it were her wedding ring. Desperation was the mother of creative invention.
Maybe with Bray’s help, she could figure out the mystery of Lab 7. Well, not Lab 7 anymore, since Project Cypress had been moved, but the mystery of Mac’s sudden disappearance, the thing that drove her, that kept her up at night.
“It’s safe to get up now,” she said, checking the rearview mirror in time to see Bray sit up.
She considered pulling over to let him get in the front passenger seat. Then revised that idea. She felt more comfortable with a little distance between them. Not that she suspected he would hurt her. But it had been difficult to think clearly with him too close. When they’d hidden behind the lab door while the security guard had checked out the area, Bray’s nearness had threatened to suffocate her.
“So where is home?” he asked.
“We’re not going home.”
“Why not?”
“They might have someone posted, watching for you there.” She was making this up as she went along, but it didn’t sound too far-fetched, she reasoned.
“They?”
“The authorities are still looking for you as a person of interest.”
“Because of Zoe’s kidnapping.”
Because of what had gone on at Cranesbrook, Claire thought. Everything related back to Project Cypress, starting with Mac’s disappearance. “So you remember your niece?”
“Not really. Not in the way you mean.”
“How, then?”
“Impressions. Like I’m sure I touched her, held her.”
Uh-oh, he wasn’t going to have like impressions of her and she was supposed to be his wife. “Is that how you remember things?” she asked, trying to keep the concern from her voice. “Simple impressions?”
“Mostly.”
How else? Claire wondered. And how long would it be before Bray saw through her pretense?
When she turned onto the main road, he asked, “Where are we headed?”
“For Breezy Cove Marina. I’m taking care of a boat for some friends. Lainie and John,” she added. “The Moores. Sound familiar?”
“Sorry.”
Of course the name wouldn’t sound familiar since he didn’t know the couple. But she had to make their relationship sound convincing. Sometimes it was the small things that counted most in getting another person to relax his guard.
When she’d told Lainie she’d taken a job at Cranesbrook, her old friend had said she could live on the boat until she found an apartment. John’s work had taken them to Budapest for six months, so they wouldn’t be doing any sailing until next season. The boat would be just sitting there at the marina until it had to go to dry dock.
Which would be all too soon, Claire realized. She’d hoped to have answers—and another job—before this.
“So you work at Cranesbrook?” he asked.
“Supervisor of computer systems. And you were chief of security. That’s how we met.”
“So we haven’t been married long.”
“Not long at all.” Not wanting to get into exact days or anything, as she’d hardly had time to think this through, she changed the subject to the one that interested her. “About the accident—don’t you remember anything?”
“I’ve been dreaming about it, I think. Noise and confusion and a guy in a lab coat on the floor.”
Now they were getting somewhere. Claire gripped the wheel in excitement.
“Wes Vanderhoven,” she told him. “He and your partner, Gage Darnell, were taken to Beech Grove Clinic for observation.” She waited a moment and said, “Gage escaped, though. Any idea why he couldn’t just sign himself out?”
“Sorry. I don’t even remember my partner—what he looks like, his personality, nothing.”
Okay, nothing there. Back to the accident.
“So you saw Wes Vanderhoven unconscious on the lab floor. Then what did you do?”
Bray was silent for a moment before saying, “Me? Nothing. There was some kind of explosion from the storeroom.”
A fact she already knew. “And then what?”
“I guess that must be when I hit my head.”
“So you have no idea how you got out of the lab or Cranesbrook?”
“I told you I didn’t remember.”
“Not even an impression?”
Bray made a sound of exasperation and said, “Not even an impression!”
“The authorities think you know something,” she pressed.
“I’m aware of that from the article in the Baltimore Sun. They’re wrong. I only wish…” Bray fell silent for a moment, then said, “What kind of husband am I, turning you into a criminal?”
“You can’t think that way.”
Claire didn’t want him going all noble on her and disappearing for her own good. Not before she worked on him some more. He was bound to get his memory back, probably in bits and pieces, and she wanted to be there when anything associated with the lab accident kicked in. Hopefully he would remember that before he remembered her.
“You’ll be harboring a fugitive,” Bray said grimly.
“You’re wanted for questioning, is all. The police aren’t out to arrest you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“According to the newspaper article—”
“It’s a ruse. Then they get me where they want me and the next thing you know, I’m on trial.”
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about. Have you been arrested before?”
He hesitated, then said, “I’m not sure. I don’t remember.”
Bray’s uncertainty put a knot in Claire’s stomach. She was going on faith that he was the square shooter she’d assumed he was. She didn’t need the complication of being up close and personal with a truly dangerous man.
When Breezy Cove Marina came into view, she tried to put away all her reservations. Having access to Bray Sloane was her first real break. She wasn’t going to lose him out of fear. Trusting her own instincts had always served her well and she wasn’t about to let unfounded doubts change that.
Breezy Cove was an inlet on the Chesapeake less than a mile from St. Stephens
. The marina was fairly small. No fancy Olympic-size pools or gazebo. There was a white, red-roofed building that held a café and supply store, a bath house and laundry. A picnic area had a covered pavilion and a small playground for kids. A half dozen docks held nearly two hundred seasonal slips, and there was a separate dock for transient boats. A fuel station and a maintenance area were located at one end of the marina, the parking lot at the other.
Lainie’s Moor was docked near the parking lot, so the transfer from land to water was quick and private. This late in the season, few people were around after dark anyway. As far as Claire knew, no one else slept on any of the other boats except for an overnighter, usually on a weekend.
The boat itself was a fiberglass thirty-four-footer with a bow pulpit and rail, three-quarter flybridge enclosure and a hardtop. Inside, the galley was equipped with a refrigerator, burners, microwave and dinette.
Claire led the way inside the cabin, slipping out of her suit jacket and scarf and throwing them and her briefcase on the dinette bench.
“It’s kind of cramped in here,” Bray said, glancing up at the ceiling that sat mere inches from the top of his spiked black hair.
He was a big man for such a small space, tall, with broad shoulders. Claire imagined that beneath the long khaki shirt sleeves, his arms were muscled like steel.
Releasing the breath that caught in her throat, she said, “Think of it as cozy.”
“Do you always see the glass half full?”
“Do you always see it half empty?” she countered.
“You tell me.”
He was challenging her. Because it amused him or because he didn’t quite believe she knew him well enough to be his wife? She read people quite accurately, though, and she had come up against him a few times at work.
“You take things super-seriously, Bray. Life. Yourself. You see things in black and white. Right and wrong. You have a pretty intimidating scowl.”
“You don’t seem intimidated.”
He was scowling at her now. She was a little intimidated but she wouldn’t show it. She could bluff the best of them.
“That’s because I’m your match, I guess.”
One of his dark brows lifted. “My opposite?”
“You could say that.”
“Does that mean you don’t take things seriously? That you don’t see things in black or white? That you’re not a straight arrow?”
She couldn’t have described herself more accurately. “Opposites attract and all that.” Though she felt caught, she kept her voice light.
“That’s what they say.”
Claire breathed more easily as he broke eye contact and continued looking around. “Good thing I’m not claustrophobic. I’m not, am I?”
“I’m not sure we’ve ever had the opportunity to find out.”
“Well, here it is.”
Bray was standing in the doorway, facing the rear of the boat, and Claire knew he was staring at the full-size bed that she’d left unmade. Heat seared her as she thought about bunking with him in that small space. She hadn’t quite thought this thing through.
“You need a good night’s rest, so you can have the bed,” she offered, as if she were simply being reasonable. “I can bunk on the dinette couch.”
He eyed the narrow alternative. “I wouldn’t think of kicking my wife out of bed.”
It was then she knew he was playing her. Somehow she had kicked up his suspicions. What had she said, done wrong?
Then it dawned on her.
Rather, what hadn’t she done?
Uh-oh.
Knowing how to fix this, Claire forced a smile to her lips and swayed toward Bray as though it were the most natural thing in the world, when what she really wanted to do was to run the other way.
“I didn’t get to say this before, darling, but I’m so relieved you’re all right.” She slipped her hands up his chest slowly enough to feel his heartbeat accelerate. “I couldn’t imagine what happened to you. Why didn’t you call me in nearly two weeks?”
He stopped the progression of her hands by cuffing her wrists with his fingers. He was staring at her left hand. “That’s your wedding ring? And I don’t wear one?”
“We were in such a rush, we didn’t have time to ring shop. So I just used my class ring temporarily.”
To distract him, she pushed her hands up until he let go of her wrists. Circling her arms around his neck brought her in full body contact with him. Again. He stirred to life against her belly and she steeled herself against her physical response.
Suddenly breathless, she forced out, “Your memory will come back. You’ll see.”
When she stood on tiptoe, it was simply to brush her lips over his. A promise of a kiss. Of more intimate things to come in the future.
Bray had other ideas.
Arms like bands of steel wrapped around her waist and wedged her into him. His mouth opened and covered hers, his tongue invading her warmth. For a moment Claire stiffened and thought to fight him, but that would surely convince him she wasn’t who she said she was. So she softened against him and let him have his way with her.
It was only a kiss, after all.
And what a kiss. His tongue explored every crevice of her mouth, his teeth plucked at her lower lip, his beard-stubbled face whisked against the soft flesh of her cheek. Claire’s pulse raced and her head went light and, without thinking about the consequences, she kissed him with equal fervor.
She hadn’t been so attracted to a man in…well, probably never.
Claire had always played the safe card when it came to men. She’d seen the kind of macho creeps her mom had attracted, and early on she’d promised herself that wouldn’t be the way she would live her life. Apparently safe translated to lukewarm attraction. She’d taken what she could get in the way of safe relationships, but she’d always thought there should be more—more chemistry, more heat, more love—between a man and a woman than she’d experienced.
Bray’s hands slid lower, opening so his palms scooped up her derriere and brought her more solidly in contact with him. Her knees grew weak and she clung to him.
No matter that she knew she ought to stop this now, ought to divert his attention somehow, Claire simply couldn’t bring herself to stop the powerful sensations that Bray created in her. Her thighs spread slightly so that her still-clothed center pressed against his length. He moaned and slid his hands down her buttocks and between her thighs so he could open and lift her.
She wrapped her legs around his thighs. Bray started backing up toward the bed. Now would be the time to stop him. Now. Before this went any further. And when he came up for air, she tried to find the words to put a halt to this madness. Before she could do so, his head lowered and his mouth nuzzled at her breast through her blouse and she was lost.
Throwing back her head, Claire let sensation wash over her as he nipped at her nipple and suckled it through the material. The sensation was so powerful, she thought she might come without going any further. Then they were moving faster.
Back…back…she was falling backward…and he was falling on top of her.
They landed on the bed, Bray on top, his mouth still pleasuring her breast. The bed swayed with the boat, rocking them closer. Claire felt his hands between them, opening her slacks, tugging the material low on her hips. She wanted to do the same to him, but she couldn’t quite reach, so instead she encouraged him by digging her fingernails into his back. That was all it took for him to slide lower, his mouth trailing a pattern down the front of her, his lips sliding against exposed stomach flesh.
Hands shaking, she began unbuttoning her blouse, unhooking her front-clasp bra, but for the moment, he had other interests. He rolled her slacks and panties down over her hips and thighs, his mouth following. Realizing what he was about to do, Claire opened her eyes and watched his dark head descend until his mouth reached the juncture of her softness, and his tongue licked the pooled fluid there.
His tongue entered her, his m
outh surrounded her.
Lost… She was lost in a sea of sensation.
Allowing her eyes to close, she stroked herself from stomach to breasts, then surrounded the flesh and rubbed her nipples to double the pleasure. He pushed two fingers hard inside her, lifting her hips from the bed. He eased the fingers out slowly, all the while using his tongue and teeth cunningly on her tender flesh. Sparked by the increasing pressure, she moved against him, lifting her legs, making him drive his fingers deeper into her.
Her head went light and a low moan issued from her throat as the pressure built, but before he completed her, he stopped and she felt him move up the bed. She opened her eyes to see his face over hers. And then she was filled with him, not his fingers, but a more satisfying hardness.
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands from her breasts up over her head. He kissed her and she tasted herself on his lips, his tongue. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over every inch of his skin, but he held her firm, a prisoner of her own desire.
And then he began to move in her. Slowly.
Too slowly.
She pushed against him, snaked her legs around his thighs. The pressure began to build in her, but he didn’t seem in any hurry, so she lifted her legs higher, opening herself wider to him so he would lose himself in her.
He moaned and finally she felt him lose that tight control. He moved in her deeper, harder, faster. Little noises escaped her throat as he rode her and the pressure inside her seemed too sharp and yet endless.
“Now!” she whispered, her lips at his ear. She lowered her mouth and nipped the soft flesh of his neck.
He cried out and stiffened and she pushed up her hips as forcefully as she could. That did it. The second his wet warmth began to fill her, she spilled over the edge with him, coming hard and long.
He collapsed against her, still inside her. Drunk with pleasure, she loved the feel of him. And she finally got to touch him, stroke him, imagine what more sex with him would be like.
The sex-fever seemed to take forever to dissipate, but when it did, cold reality began to set in.
Claire could hardly believe what she’d done. She was no innocent, but normally she at least knew and cared for a guy before sleeping with him. Bray Sloane was a virtual stranger and she’d lied to him about being his wife.
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