by Nora Roberts
She shifted restlessly, reached for her glass. “I guess the cops have gone by, talked to her and my bartenders, some of the regulars. They’ll be worried.”
“It won’t take much longer.” He’d been working on refining his plan, looking for the pitfalls. “Your pub’ll run a few days without you. You take vacations, right?”
“A couple weeks here and there.”
“It’s supposed to be Paris next.”
She was surprised he remembered. “That’s the plan. Have you ever been there?”
“No, have you?
“Nope. We went to Ireland when I was a kid, and my father got all misty-eyed and sentimental. He grew up on the West Side of Manhattan, but you’d have thought he’d been born and bred in Dublin and had been wrenched away by Gypsies. Other than that, I’ve never been out of the States.”
“I’ve been up to Canada, down to Mexico, but I’ve never flown over the ocean.” He smiled and took the glass from her again. “I think your sauce is burning, sugar.”
She swore, shot up and scrambled inside. While she muttered, he eyed the level of the bottle. Normally he wouldn’t have recommended alcohol as a tranquilizer, but these were desperate times. He’d seen that misery come into her eyes when he mentioned Paris—and reminded her of her friends.
For a few hours, for this one night, he was going to make her forget.
“I caught it in time,” she told him, dragging her hair back as she stepped out again. “And I put on the water for the pasta. I don’t know how long that sauce is supposed to cook—probably for three days, but we’re eating it rare.”
He grinned, handed her the glass he’d just topped off. “Fine with me. There was another bottle of this chilling, right?”
“Yeah, I get it for her by the case. My distributor just loves it.” She knocked some back, chuckled into the exquisite bubbles. “I can imagine what my customers would say if I put Brother Dom on the menu.”
“I’m getting used to it.” He rose, skimmed a hand over her hair. “I’m going to put some music on. Too damn quiet around here.”
“Good idea.” With a considering look, she glanced over her shoulder. “You know, I think Grace said they have, like, bears and things up here.”
He looked dubiously into the woods. “Guess I’ll get my gun, too.”
He got more than that. To her surprise, he brought candles into the kitchen, turned the stereo on low and found a station that played blues. He stuck a pink flower that more or less resembled a carnation to him behind her ear.
“Yeah, I guess redheads can wear pink,” he decided after a smiling study. “You look cute.”
Blowing her hair out of her eyes, she drained the pasta. “What’s this? A romantic streak?”
“I’ve got one I keep in reserve.” And while her hands were full, he leaned in and nuzzled the back of her neck. “Does that bother you?”
“No.” She angled her head, enjoying the leaping thrill up her spine. “But to complete the mood, you’re going to have to eat this and pretend it’s good.” She frowned a little when he retrieved another bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. “Do you know what that costs a bottle, ace? Even wholesale?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he reminded her, and popped the cork.
As meals went, they’d both had better—and worse. The pasta was only slightly overdone, the sauce was bland but inoffensive. And, being ravenous, they dipped into second helpings without complaint.
He made certain he steered the conversation away from anything that worried her.
“Probably should have used some of those herbs she’s got growing out there,” M.J. considered. “But I don’t know what’s what.”
“It’s fine.” He took her hand, pressed a kiss to the palm, and made her blink. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” She picked up her glass. “Full.”
Nerves? Funny, he thought, she hadn’t shown nerves when he handcuffed her, or when he drove like a madman through the streets of Washington with potential killers on their tail.
But nuzzle her hand and she looked edgy as a virgin bride on her wedding night. He wondered just how much more nervous he could make her.
“I like looking at you,” he murmured.
She sipped hastily, set the glass down, picked it up again. “You’ve been looking at me for two days.”
“Not in candlelight.” He filled her glass again. “It puts fire in your hair. In your eyes. Star fire.” He smiled slowly, held the glass out to her. “What’s that line? ‘Fair as a star, when only one is shining in the sky.”’
“Yeah.” She gulped wine, felt it fizz in her throat. “I think that’s it.”
“You’re the only one, M.J.” He pushed the plates aside so that he could nibble on her fingers. “Your hand’s trembling.”
“It is not.” Her heart was, but she tugged her hand free, just in case he was right. She drank again, then narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Dakota?”
His smile was slow, confident. “Relaxed. And you were relaxed, M.J. Before I started to seduce you.”
A hot ball of need lodged in the pit of her stomach. “Is that what you call it?”
“You’re ripe for seducing.” He turned her hand over, grazed his teeth over the inside of her wrist. “Your head’s swimming with wine, your pulse is unsteady. If you were to stand right now, your legs would be weak.”
She didn’t have to stand for them to be weak. Even sitting, her knees were shaking. “I don’t need to be seduced. You know that.”
“What I know is that I’m going to enjoy it. I want you trembling, and weak, and mine.”
She was afraid she already was, and pulled back, unnerved. “This is silly. If you want to go to bed—”
“We’ll get there. Eventually.” He rose, drew her to her feet, then slid his hands in one long, possessive stroke down the sides of her body. Then back up. “You’re worried about what I can do to you.”
“You don’t worry me.”
“Yes, I do.” He eased her against him, kept his mouth hovering over hers a moment, then lowered it to nip lightly at her jaw. “Just now I worry you a lot.”
Her breath was thick, unsteady. “Cook a man one meal and he gets delusions of grandeur.” And when he chuckled, his breath warm on her cheek, she shivered. “Kiss me, Jack.” Her mouth turned, seeking his. “Just kiss me.”
“You’re not afraid of the fire.” He evaded her lips, heard her moan as his mouth skimmed her throat. “But the warmth unnerves you. You can have both.” His lips brushed hers, retreated. “Tonight, we’ll have both. There won’t be any choice.”
The wine was swimming in her head, just as he’d said. In sparkling circles. She was trembling, just as he’d said. In quick, helpless quivers.
And she was weak, just as he’d said.
Even as she strained for the fire, the flash danced out of her reach. There was only the warmth, enervating, sweet, drugging. Her breath caught, then released in a rush when he lifted her.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you need it,” he murmured. “And so do I.”
He heated her skin with nibbling kisses as he carried her from the room. Filled his head with the scent that was foreign to both of them and only added to the mystery.
The house was dark, empty, with the silvery shower of moonlight guiding his path up the steps. He laid her on the bed, covered her with his body. And finally, finally, lowered his mouth to hers.
Her limbs went weak as the kiss drained her, sent her floating. She struggled once, tried to find level ground. But he deepened the kiss so slowly, so cleverly, so tenderly, she simply slid into the velvet trap he’d already laid for her.
She murmured his name, heard the echo of it whisper through her head. And surrendered.
He felt the change, that soft and complete yielding. The gift of it was powerfully arousing, sent dark ripples of delight dancing through his blood. Even as his desire quickened, his mou
th slipped down to gently explore the pulse that beat so hard and thick in the hollow of her throat.
“Let go,” he said quietly. “Just let go of everything, and let me take you.”
His hands were gentle on her, skimming and tracing those curves and angles. This, he thought, makes her sigh. And that makes her moan. As if their time were endless, he tutored himself in the pleasures of her. The strong curve of her shoulder, the long muscles of her thigh, the surprisingly fragile line of her throat.
He undressed her slowly, pressing his lips to the hands that reached for him until they went limp again.
He left her nothing to hold on to but trust. Gave her nothing to experience but pleasure. Tenderness destroyed her, until her world was whittled down to the slowly rising storm inside her own body.
The fire was there, that flash of lightning and outrageous heat, the whip of wind and roll of power. But he held it off with clever hands and patient mouth, easing her along the path he’d chosen for them.
He turned her over, and those hands stroked the muscles in her shoulders and turned them to liquid. That mouth traced kisses down her spine and made her quake even as her mind went misty.
She could hear the rustle of the sheets as he moved over her, hear the whisper of his promises, feel the warm glow of promises kept.
And from outside, in the deepening night, came the long haunting call of an owl.
No part of her body was ignored. No aspect of seduction forgotten. She lay helpless beneath him, open to any demand. And when demand finally came, her moan was long, throaty, the response of her body instant and full.
He buried his face between her breasts, fighting back the urge to rush, now that he’d brought her so luxuriously to the peak.
“I want more of you,” he murmured. “I want all of you. I want everything.”
He closed his mouth over her breast until she moved under him again, until her breath was nothing but feverish little pants. When her voice broke on his name, he slipped inside her, filled her slowly.
Teetering on a new brink, she arched toward him. Her eyes locked on his as they linked hands. There was only his face in the moonlight, dark eyes, firm mouth, the rich flow of hair threaded with gold.
Swept by a rushing tide of love, she smiled up at him. “Take more of me.” She felt his fingers tremble in hers. “Take all of me.” Saw the flash that was both triumph and need in his eyes. “Take everything.”
The fire reached out for both of them.
While she slept, he held her close against him and worked out the final points of his plan. It had as much chance of working, he’d decided, as it did of blowing up in his face.
Even odds weren’t such a bad deal.
He’d have risked much worse for her, much more to prevent those tears from slipping down her cheeks again. He’d waited thirty years to fall, which, he concluded, was why he’d fallen so hard, and so fast.
Unless he wanted to take the more mystical route and believe it was all simply fated—the timing, the stone, M.J. Either way, he’d come to the same place. She was the first and only person he’d ever loved, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect her.
Even if it meant breaking her trust.
If this was the last time he’d lie beside her, he could hardly complain. She’d given him more in two days than he’d had in his entire life.
She loved him, and that answered all the questions.
As Jack lay in the deep country dark, contemplating his life, wondering about his future, another sat in a room washed with light. His day had been full, and now he was weary. But his mind wouldn’t shut off, and he couldn’t afford the fatigue.
He had watched fireworks streak across the sky. He had smiled, conversed, sipped fine wine. But all the while the rage had eaten at him, like a cancer.
Now, he was blessedly alone, in the room that soothed his soul. He feasted his eyes on the Renoir. Such lovely, subtle colors, he mused. Such exquisite brush strokes. And only he would ever look upon its magnificence.
There, the puzzle box of a Chinese emperor. Glossy with lacquer, a red dragon streaking over it and into a black sky. Priceless, full of secrets. And only he had the key.
Here, a ruby ring that had once graced the royal finger of Louis XIV. He slipped it on his pinkie, turned the stone toward the light and watched it shoot fire. From the king’s hand to his, he thought. With a few detours along the way, but it was where it belonged now.
Usually such things brought him a deep, exquisite pleasure.
But not tonight.
Some had been punished, he thought. Some were beyond punishment. Yet it wasn’t enough.
His treasure room was filled with the stunning, the unique, the ancient. Yet it wasn’t enough.
The Three Stars were the only thing that would satisfy him. He would trade every treasure he owned for them. For with them, he would need nothing else.
The fools believed they understood them. Believed they could control them. And elude him. They were meant for him, of course. Their power was always meant for him.
And the loss of them was like ground glass in his throat.
He rose, ripping the ruby from his finger and flinging it across the room like a child tossing a broken toy. He would have them back. He was sure of it. But a sacrifice must be made. To the god, he thought with a slow smile. Of course, a sacrifice to the god.
In blood.
He left the room, leaving the lights burning. And most of his sanity behind.
Chapter 11
Jack considered leaving a note. When she woke, she’d be alone. At first, she’d probably assume he’d gone out to find that little store she’d spoken of, to buy some food.
She’d be impatient, a little annoyed. After an hour or so, she might worry that he’d gotten him self lost on the back roads.
But it wouldn’t take her long to realize he was gone.
As he walked quietly down the stairs, just as dawn broke, he imagined her first reaction would be anger. She’d storm through the house, cursing him, threatening him. She’d probably kick something.
He was almost sorry to miss it.
She might even hate him for a while, he thought. But she’d be safe here. That was what mattered most.
He stepped outside, into the quiet mist of morning that shrouded the trees and hazed the sky. A few birds were up with him, stretching their vocal cords. Grace’s flowers perfumed the air like a fantasy, and there was dew on the grass. He saw a deer, likely the same doe that had been on the lane the day before, standing at the edge of the woods.
They studied each other a moment, each both interested in and wary of the alien species. Then, dismissing him, she moved with hardly a sound along the verge of the trees, until she was slowly swallowed by them.
He glanced back at the house where he’d left M.J. sleeping. If everything went as he hoped, he’d be back for her by nightfall. It would take some doing, he knew, but he had to believe he’d convince her—eventually—that he’d acted for the best. And if her feelings were hurt, well, hurt feelings weren’t terminal.
Again, he considered leaving a note—something short and to the point. But he decided against it. She’d figure it out for herself quickly enough. She was a sharp woman.
His woman, he thought as he slipped behind the wheel of the car. Whatever happened to him in the course of this day, she would be safe.
A soldier prepared for battle, a knight armed for the charge, he steeled himself to leave his lady and ride off into the mist. Such was his mood when he turned the key and the engine responded with a dull click.
His mood deflated like a sail emptied of wind.
Terrific, great, just what he needed. He swung out of the car, resisted slamming the door, and rounded the hood. Muttering oaths, he popped it, stuck his head under.
“Lose something, ace?”
Slowly he withdrew his head from under the hood. She was standing on the porch, legs spread, hands fisted on her hips, venom in her eyes. I
t had taken only a glance to see that his distributor cap was missing. He didn’t even need to look at her to conclude that she’d nailed him.
But he was cool. He’d faced down worse than one angry woman in his checkered career. “Looks that way. You’re up early, M.J.”
“So are you, Jack.”
“I was hungry.” He flashed a smile—and kept his distance. “I thought I’d hunt up some breakfast.”
She cocked a brow. “Got your club in the car?”
“My club?”
“That’s what Neanderthals do, don’t they? Get their club and go off into the woods to bash a bear for meat.”
As she came down the steps toward him, he kept the smile plastered to his face, leaned back on the fender. “I had something a little more civilized in mind. Something like bacon and eggs.”
“Oh? And where are you going to find bacon and eggs around here at dawn?”
She had him there. “Ah…I thought I could, you know, find a farmer and—” The breath whooshed out of his lungs as her fist plunged into his belly.
“Don’t you lie to me. Do I look stupid?”
He coughed, got his breath back and managed to straighten. “No. Listen—”
“Did you think I couldn’t tell what was going on last night? The way you made love to me? Did you think you’d soften me up so I wouldn’t know that was a big goodbye scene? You bastard!” She swung again, but this time he ducked, so she missed his jaw by inches.
Now his own temper began to climb. He’d never treated a woman with such care as he’d treated her with in the night, and now she was tossing it back in his face. “What did you do, sneak down here in the middle of the night and sabotage my ride?”
He saw the answer to that in the thin, satisfied smile that spread on her face. “Oh, that’s nice. Real nice. Trusting.”
“How dare you talk about trust! You were going to leave me here.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Now where’s the distributor cap?” He took her by the arms, firmly, before she could take another shot at him. “Where is it?”