Delicious Torment

by Linsey Lanier

  Defender clattered to the floor. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’d like a partner.”

  She spat water as he set her down in the tub and the spray hit her head, soaking every bit of her including her T-shirt and undies. “I’ve already had my bath. In the octopus shower.”

  “I have a fetish for clean women.” He bent his head and captured her lips, the water peppering both their faces.

  Fetish? Must be the same one she had. For a moment, she gave in to the delicious taste of his lips working over her mouth. That powerful physical attraction began to work its greedy fingers along the nerves of her solar plexus. But this wasn’t the plan.

  She broke free. “I really don’t want another shower, Parker. Besides, I liked the one in the master bath better. The one with the multiple showerheads.”

  He laughed, drew her to him, pressed his lips against her cheek. “If you liked multiple showerheads, what’s wrong with multiple showers? Or other things that come in multiples?”

  “I really—I don’t—”

  He took her head in both hands, his gaze unyielding. “I think we’ve had enough conversation about it.” Firmly he pressed his lips over hers, so she couldn’t argue. His mouth was strong, demanding. She opened to it, surrendering to its powerful seduction. Part of her still fought him.

  What was he doing in her house? He’d scared the daylights out of her. She should throw him out on his ear. Instead, she shivered with desire as exotic arousal pulsed through her. God, she had a weakness for him.

  At last, he freed her lips and began working his way down her neck. His method of persuasion was working pretty well. She couldn’t bring herself to protest. With a lusty groan, she rolled her head back, let the water wash over her neck while Parker’s mouth attacked her shoulder and collarbone.

  He lifted his head, his gaze lusty. His hands moved teasingly over her a moment, then reached for the edges of her wet shirt. Before she could protest, he’d pulled it up over her head. “You don’t need this.”

  “What are you—?” She opened her mouth in shock, but he swallowed her reply with his own lusty, wordless one. Their lips still locked, he lifted her out of the shower, turned the water off with his foot and padded toward the bubble bath, their wet bodies dripped across the tiled floor to the sunken bath on the other side of the partition.

  “What’s this fancy tub around the corner for?” she murmured, half breathless. “You planning on entertaining somebody?”

  “You threw off my timing, but yes.” Kissing her again, he stepped into the water.

  Hovering above the suds, Miranda wrenched her lips free again, tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “Now look here, Parker. This is fun and all, but I want to know what you’re doing here—ahh.”

  She hit the water and the warm liquid caressed her body, soothing as a mother’s arms, smelling like wildflowers. He really knew how to get to her, didn’t he?

  He reached over her head for a strawberry, popped it into her open mouth. “Would you like a drink with that?”

  “No, I don’t want a drink,” she grunted with her mouth full.

  “Very well. Then we’ll get right down to business.” His hands disappeared under the water and the next moment, her panties were gone. “You don’t need these either.” He tossed the wet fabric onto the floor.

  “Now, look you. You can’t break into my house and…oh.”

  He closed in beside her in the tub, went to work on her neck again, let his hands float to her breasts, giving her the welcome home he’d no doubt intended when he’d hatched this scheme.

  She shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t let herself go, she told herself as she sank into the suds. But she let his skillful hands slide over her wet skin. He teased at her, stroked his fingers over her belly. This was a mistake. A very bad mistake. But as she ran her hands over the muscles of his arms, took in the clean scent of him, her heart clenched in her chest.

  Oh, hell. What choice did she have? She couldn’t resist the intoxicating man with his intoxicating ways, his intoxicating smell, his intoxicating touch. He enthralled her, mesmerized her like no man ever had. She was helpless. Done for. Wondering if she could ever break free of his wizard’s spell, she opened herself to him and his magic hands.

  He slipped them around her, lifted her breast to his mouth, took it in. She went dizzy as delirious sensations danced through her whole body. Then she smiled to herself. He might be conquering her body, but she’d won the battle over the house.

  Feeling victorious, she pressed her lips to him hard, turned him over with a splash.

  “There’s my tigress,” he laughed.

  “Feel my teeth.” She bit him on the shoulder. Lightly, but hard enough to arouse him, as if he needed that.

  “You devil, you.” His eyes flashed and he spun her over, settled himself on top of her, the two of them splashing in the water like spawning salmon.

  Her gaze met his and she was filled with desire so intense, she thought the tub might start boiling. “Don’t make me wait.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  He entered her smoothly, like a bar of soap over wet skin. Then slowly moved inside her, deliciously. The sensation made her shiver and quiver and feel all too feminine.

  Memories of the night they’d shared in this house bombarded her. Not the ugly ones, the beautiful ones. His gentle touch, his tender kisses that had grown strong and demanding with the need they both felt. Their bodies fusing, thrashing passionately on the silky sheets of his bed. She had felt so close to him that night. For a few hours, she had felt loved, protected. As if nothing bad could ever happen to her again. As if nothing evil existed.

  But it had. Parker’s lovemaking was only a temporary cure. Maybe knowing that was what made her unable to resist him.

  His eyes were closed, his face was hard, full of unspeakable feeling as he came. She shuddered, joining him. They breathed in unison. She’d never known such intense pleasure as Parker gave her. He made her want more of him. Exactly what she shouldn’t want.

  He opened his eyes, watched her last waves of ecstasy, enjoying her pleasure. And the fact that he had been the author of it.

  “Proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Proud?”

  “Don’t men feel virile when they conquer a woman?”

  “Conquering has nothing to do with it. When you let me make love to you, I feel very much alive.”

  “Because you’ve won.”

  “Because I’m close to you. It’s more about bonding than bondage.” His look grew intense. “But if you need further proof…” His lips fluttered down her neck again.

  Keep your head clear. This could go on till dawn. She cleared her throat. “By the way, Parker, where are you spending the night?”

  “Right here,” he murmured, attacking her throat.

  “So you’re taking the house after all?”

  “No.”

  Now he was pissing her off. She pulled away from his lips. “Then what are you doing here?”

  One lip curled in a look that was definitely that of a conqueror. “Acting as your personal bodyguard.”

  “Bodyguard?” He was doing a lot more than guarding it.

  “The Agency offers those services.”

  “I can’t afford them. And I don’t need to be protected.”

  “We could work out an arrangement.” He was good with arrangements. “My payments would be reasonable.” He went for her neck again.

  She shifted away, fuming. “Speaking of the Agency, don’t we have to be there in the morning?”

  “You’re right. I need to put you to bed.” With that, he lifted her up and out of the tub, set her on her feet. Then he grabbed a thick towel and started to pat her dry.

  “Hey, I’m not a child.”

  “Definitely not,” he chuckled.

  But his attention felt too good to stop. As he rubbed away, her mind drifted back to what she’d learned about Desirée Langford that afternoon. N
ow was a good time to bring it up. This was as vulnerable as Parker got. “You know, I’ve been thinking about the Langford case.”

  He stopped rubbing. “Case?”

  Of course, he’d remind her that there was no case. Yet. “Her death,” she corrected. “Maybe it wasn’t Usher who wanted her dead. Maybe it was someone else.”

  “Oh?” His tone was flat. He began to dry her again.

  “Desirée knew a lot of people in the horse industry. Anyone could have been jealous of her.”

  He put the towel around her butt and pulled it back and forth vigorously. “Do you have any ideas?”

  She shrugged. “Could be anyone. Her vet, for example.”

  “Her vet.” He continued to rub. “Is that what Usher told you when you talked to him at the funeral today?”

  She grabbed the towel and yanked it out of his hands. “How did you—?”

  He narrowed his eyes and gave her that piercing grin. “I recognized that look in your eye when I told you not to go. I knew you would, despite my order. So I followed you.”

  He took the towel again, reached for her. She jerked it out of his hands, tossed it on the floor. She was dry enough. “You followed me? I didn’t see you at the funeral.”

  His expression smug and self-satisfied, he reached for another towel, began drying himself. “I stayed outside in the car. I saw you talking with Usher through the Fellowship Hall window.”

  She folded her arms under her naked breasts. “Oh, you did, did you? Well, I thought I did a pretty good job of questioning him.”

  He nodded. “From what I saw, you did an excellent job. But that’s irrelevant. We don’t have a case.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Seems like an ace detective could figure a way around that.”

  With a dark look, he wrapped the towel around his waist, reached for her and picked her up. At the moment, she almost wanted to pull a karate move on him and throw him to the ground.

  “We’ll discuss it in the morning,” he said, heading for the door.

  “What’s wrong with now?”

  “It’s late.” He carried her down the hall, past the paintings, the decorative wall scones, the ornate doorways that led to a myriad of other rooms.

  “Not too late for fooling around.”

  She felt his chest heave. “Miranda, I don’t want to discuss it.”

  She wriggled in his arms, twisting to face him. “Why not? What’s up with you and Delta Langford? What’s this ‘unpleasant history’ between you?”

  “Miranda, please.”

  “Tell me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” Those deep gray eyes looked weary as they trekked through the master bedroom door and into the soft lights.

  Liar, she was about to say. But he’d stopped and was staring down at her boxes lined up along the foot of the bed.

  “What’s this?” he asked, suspicion in his tone.

  “Nothing. I haven’t finished unpacking.” Now she was the one with something to hide. She wrestled herself out of his arms and grabbed the thick robe she’d left on the bed.

  “I’ll help you put these away.” He reached for a box.

  A streak of panic shot through her. “No. I’ll take care of them.” She seized the box he’d picked up. “Let go.”

  “Why?”

  “Never mind.” Maybe it was more embarrassment than panic, but she couldn’t let him see these things. She gave the box a yank, but her move had too much force. The lid fell off and packages slid to the floor. “God,” she muttered.

  “Was it fragile?” He bent down and lifted one of the packages. It was wrapped in shiny red-and-blue paper, tied with a smashed silver bow. “What are these?”

  Miranda sank down on her knees intending to stuff the packages back into the box. Instead she buried her head in her hands. Might as well fess up. “They’re gifts.”

  “For Amy.” he said in a gentle whisper.

  Slowly she nodded, gathering up the packages. “Birthdays, Christmases, Easters. I collected them over the years. I thought I might give them to her when I found her.” She sniffed, rubbed her nose, but continued stuffing everything back in the box. “I don’t think she’ll need the rattle I got her when she was one, though. Maybe she’d still like the teddy bear I got her when she was five.” Amy would be thirteen now. A young girl about to become a young woman.

  “Oh, Miranda.” Parker’s arms went around her with such feeling and tenderness, she couldn’t push them away. It was the first time in her life she had someone to share her pain with.

  “Darling.”

  Her heart leapt at the word. No one had ever called her “darling.” Not Leon. Not her mother. Maybe her father had a long time ago, but she couldn’t remember it.

  Parker held her close, kissed the coarseness of her thick, wild hair, touched the contour of her firm shoulder muscles, the softness of her skin betraying the softness inside. He loved that contrast. But his heart broke for her pain, the loss of her only daughter that had tormented her so long. He’d do anything in his power to take it away. But all he could do was distract her, as he was doing with this mansion. He’d live in this house with her, even with its sullied memories of his own past. They were nothing compared to hers.

  He reached for her chin, turned her face toward him. “Won’t you consider seeing a therapist? It might help.”

  Now she was the one who didn’t want to talk about it. She shook her head. “They never help.”

  “You haven’t found the right one.”

  Stubbornly, she rubbed her eyes. “Like you said, it’s late. I’m tired.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Of course. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  “Sure. Just like we’ll discuss the Langford case.” She got up and crossed to the bed.

  He paused, studying her for a long moment. She could see the wheels turning in his head. “I’ll…make a deal with you.”

  She turned to face him, folded her arms. “A deal?”

  He nodded. “If you make an appointment with a therapist, I’ll consider finding a way to take the Langford case.”

  She snorted. “Consider finding a way? That deal sounds a little lopsided to me.”

  His low sigh was more like a lion’s growl, but he glanced down at the boxes and caved. “I’ll start doing some preliminary research tomorrow.”

  Her heart did a little flip. “You mean it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Suspicious, she titled her head at him. But it was the best chance she had. She’d take it. She reached out her hand. “Agreed.”

  He clasped her palm and pulled her onto the bed, making her laugh as he kissed her cheeks. This was going to be a long night.

  What a way to seal a deal.

  Chapter Ten

  It’s late.

  The ice clinks and the whiskey shimmers in my glass as I drink it. The newsprint of the worn obituary stains my fingertips.

  Why did she have to go? Why? She was so like me. We were soul mates. No, she wasn’t like me at all. She was beautiful. Beloved. And now that beauty is gone from this world and all that remains are hearts broken from the loss. Such a tragedy. Such a waste.

  But she had to go. Had to.

  That beauty, that graceful loveliness, had to be destroyed. She caused too much suffering. Too much pain. My pain. She had to die. It was only right. She was too haughty, too self-serving, too arrogant for her own good.

  Like that female detective. Prying, probing, snooping from the very first moment she was dead. Like her famous boss.

  I hate them both so much. So much. As much as I hated her? Perhaps.

  I take another mouthful of whiskey to steady my nerves. Yes, I do hate them as much. My hatred grows by the day. Soon it will be too much to bear.

  I won’t be able to contain it. I’ll have to act.

  I need a plan. Something no one will ever suspect. Something no one will see until it’s too late. Something quick. Not painless, but quick. And deci
sive. And then the snooping detective and her egotistical boss will be…no more.

  Just like Desirée.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sleeping with the boss on a weeknight sure made getting to work the next day hell.

  Miranda wanted to throw the alarm clock against the wall when it went off the next morning. But when she lifted her head off the satin pillow and discovered the bed empty, instead she went downstairs and found her new bodyguard.

  Parker was outside, sitting on a huge redwood deck built off the kitchen, that overlooked a magnificent backyard garden filled with lush green oaks and pines and a painter’s palette of flowers.

  He rose as she approached. Sweet as Southern molasses, with a dash of landed-gentry thrown in for good measure, he gestured to a tiled table under a vine-laced trellis, where coffee and croissants were waiting for her on fine bone china.

  “Good morning,” he smiled, pouring the rich hot liquid into a cup etched with a fancy gold pattern. He indicated one of the Adirondack chairs. “Join me?”

  She pursed her lips, her mouth watering. “Are you still ‘playing house,’ Parker?”

  Those Magnum-gray eyes locked with hers. “In a manner of speaking.”

  It was too tempting to resist. “Okay.” Warily, she crossed to the table, sat down and let him kiss her on the cheek. Now that her head was clear, she wasn’t about to fall for any more of his shenanigans.

  “Have one.” He set a delicate saucer before her with what looked like a melt-in-your-mouth croissant.

  She took a bite, found it light, flaky, and filled with a soft, sweet cheese. So good, she felt herself slipping under his spell again. Recover. Now. She took a swallow of the rich coffee, cleared her throat. “Speaking of playing house, I guess now that you’re here in your estate, I can move out.”

  She thought she heard his chest rumble, earthquake-like, but he merely sat back and sipped from his cup. “If you move out, Miranda, I’ll move out. I think I made it very clear I don’t want to live here.”

  “But you’ll live here if I’m here.”

  “I’m only here for bodyguard duties.”

  The stubborn mule. “I didn’t hire a bodyguard.”