Red Hot Santa

by Cherry Adair

  He wanted to take it slowly, intended to, in fact. But intentions were a memory the minute he dipped his head to brush his lips to hers. He felt the warmth of her mouth and tasted the cool mint as his tongue teased her lips apart.

  With his mouth on hers, Meghan flattened her hands against his chest, enjoying the strong beat of his heart beneath her touch. She felt his reluctance as he loosened his grip and she stepped back ever so slightly. Her own heart was beating so hard she couldn’t think straight. After the events of last night, something inside her had shifted. A door had opened. She wanted this man.

  She allowed herself to look at him boldly, taking in the vast expanse of his shoulders, drinking in the sight of his shirt where it was pulled tightly across the contours of his impressive upper body. His strength tugged at something deep inside her and the primal urge to get as close to him as possible surprised her, knocking her normal defenses aside. She openly admired the powerful thighs straining against the soft fabric of his jeans. The mere sight caused a fluttering in the pit of her stomach.

  “So,” she said, her voice sounding husky in her own ears, “what are we going to do about this since my self-control seems to have gone right out the window? I’m thinking it would be stupid for us not to sleep together.”

  “I agree.” His voice was shallow, his breathing uneven. “I want you. But we’re not kids. We can’t have everything we want.”

  “Does that mean you want me as badly as I want you?” Meghan held her breath waiting for his reply.

  He met her gaze. “Right now, your safety is my prime concern.”

  She threaded her arms around his neck. “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

  “Not a ‘but.’ ” The slightest grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “An ‘on the other hand.’ There are three armed police officers outside a secured location. I’m here to guard your body. I need to stay close to you. Very, very close.”

  “I think we could get a lot closer in the bedroom, don’t you?” she said, biting her lip. She looked up at him, enjoying the anticipation fluttering in her stomach.

  The clock on the mantel showed six fifteen. Meghan was safe here with him. Nowhere they needed to be for at least another hour or more. There was nothing new to act on. “You shouldn’t make these kinds of offers, Meghan. Not unless you mean them.”

  She got up on tiptoe to kiss his chin. “I rarely say anything I don’t mean.”

  “We have that in common,” he muttered as he brushed his lips against her forehead.

  It would be wonderful to forget everything. Just for a few hours. No memory of the accident, the Santas. Nothing but the magic of being with him. She felt his hesitation at the same time she saw the need stamped across his features.

  Meghan took a deep breath and went for it. “Look, Jack. I’m asking you to go to bed with me. Nothing else. No strings, no histrionics. If you want to, great, if not, okay, but stop debating the idea because I gotta tell you, it’s wreaking havoc on my self-esteem.”

  “Sorry,” he said as he moved and pulled her into the circle of his arms. “But I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “Me either,” she admitted, adding, “I haven’t been able to think of much of anything but you since we met.”

  Protected in his arms, Meghan closed her eyes and allowed her cheek to rest against his chest.

  His fingers danced over the outline of her spine, leaving a trail of electrifying sensation in their wake. Like a spring flower, passion flourished and blossomed from deep within her, filling her quickly with a type of frenzied desire she had never felt before. He ignited feelings so powerful and so intense that Meghan fleetingly wondered if this was possible or merely a product of fear and a restless night. Then he slipped the tip of his finger inside the neckline of her robe for a split second and she couldn’t think anymore. Except maybe to consider begging when he stopped.

  Jack moved his hand in a series of slow, sensual circles until it rested against her rib cage, just under the swell of her breast. He wanted—no, needed to see her face. He wanted to see the desire in her eyes. Catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted her head up with the intention of searching her eyes. He never made it that far.

  His eyes were riveted to her lips, which were slightly parted, a glistening shade of pale rose. His eyes roamed over every delicate feature and he could feel her pulse rate increase through the thin fabric. A knot formed in his throat as he silently acknowledged his own incredible need for this woman.

  Lowering his head, he took another tentative taste. Her mouth was warm and pliant, and so was her body, which now pressed urgently against him. His hands roamed purposefully, memorizing every nuance and curve.

  He felt his own body respond with an ache, then an almost overwhelming rush of desire surged through him. Her arms slid around his waist, pulling him closer. Jack marveled at the perfect way they fit together. It was as if Meghan had been made for him. For this.

  “Meghan,” he whispered against her mouth. He toyed with a lock of her hair first, then slowly wound his hand through the silken mass and gave a gentle tug, forcing her head back even more. Looking down at her face, Jack knew there was no other sight on earth as beautiful and inviting as her smoky blue eyes.

  In one effortless motion, he lifted her, carried her to the bedroom, and carefully lowered her onto the bed. Her light hair fanned out against the pillow.

  “I think you’re supposed to get on the bed with me,” Meghan said in a husky voice when he perched at the edge of the mattress.

  With a single finger, Jack reached out to trace the delicate outline of her mouth. Her skin was the color of ivory, with a faint but warm flush.

  Sliding into place next to her, he began showering her face and neck with light kisses. While his mouth searched for that sensitive spot at the base of her throat, he felt her fingers working the buttons of his shirt.

  He waited breathlessly for the feel of her hands on his body and he wasn’t disappointed when the anticipation gave way to reality. A pleasured moan spilled from his mouth when she brushed away his clothing and began running her palms over the tight muscles of his stomach.

  Capturing both of her hands in one of his, Jack gently held them above her head. The position arched her back, drawing his eyes down to the outline of her erect nipples.

  “This isn’t fair,” she said as he slowly untied the belt cinching her waist.

  “Believe me, Meghan, if I let you keep touching me, I’d probably last less than a minute,” he reassured her.

  Meghan responded by lifting her body to him. The rounded swell of one exposed breast brushed his arm. He began peeling away the single layer covering her. He was rewarded by the incredible sight of her breasts spilling over the edges of a lacy bra that was sexy as sin. His eyes burned as he drank in the sight of taut peaks straining against the lace. His hand rested first against the flatness of her stomach before inching up over the warm flesh. Finally, his fingers closed over the rounded fullness.

  “Please let me touch you!” Meghan cried out.

  “Not yet,” he whispered as his thumb and forefinger released the front clasp on her bra. He ignored her futile struggle to release her hands as he dipped his head to kiss the raging pulse point at her throat. Her soft skin grew hot as he worked his mouth lower and lower. She gasped when his mouth closed around her nipple, then called his name in a hoarse voice that caused a tremor to run the full length of his body.

  Moments later, he lifted his head only long enough to see her passion-laden expression and to tell her she was beautiful.

  “So are you.”

  Whether it was the sound of her voice or possibly the way she pressed herself against him, Jack neither knew nor cared. He found himself nearly undone by the level of passion communicated by the movements of her supple body.

  He reached down until his fingers made contact with a wisp of silk and lace that almost constituted enough to be labeled panties. The feel of the sensuous garment against her skin ve
ry nearly pushed him over the edge. He whisked the thong over her hips and legs, until she was finally next to him without a single barrier.

  He sought her mouth again as he released his hold on her hands. He didn’t know which was more potent, the feel of her naked body against his, or the frantic way she worked to remove his clothing. His body moved to cover hers, his tongue thrust deeply into the warm recesses of her mouth. His hand moved downward, skimming the side of her body all the way to her thigh. Then, giving in to the urgent need pulsating through him, Jack positioned himself between her legs. Every muscle in his body tensed as he looked at her face before directing his attention lower to the point where they would join.

  Meghan lifted her hips, welcoming, inviting, as her palms flattened against his hips and tugged him toward her.

  “You’re incredible,” he groaned against her lips.

  “Thank you,” she whispered back. “I want you. Now, please?”

  He wasted no time responding to her request. In a single motion, he thrust deeply inside of her, knowing without question that he had found heaven on earth.

  He caught his breath and held it. The sheer pleasure of being inside her sweet softness rocked him from head to toe. He wanted her just as crazy, just as hot, just as out of control as he was. He slid his hand between them and teased her hot spot. She wrapped her legs around his hips as he pushed inside her in a primal, building rhythm. Her gasp gratified the hell out of him as he felt her body convulse and tighten around him. He felt her body splinter in an intimate squeeze, then allowed explosive waves to surge from him. One after the other, ripples of pleasure poured from him into her. Satisfaction had never been so sweet.

  With his head buried next to hers, the sweet scent of her hair filled his nostrils. Jack reluctantly relinquished possession of her body. It took several minutes before his breathing slowed to a steady, satiated pace.

  Rolling onto his side next to her, Jack rested his head against his arm and glanced down at her. She was sheer perfection. He could have happily stayed next to her in the big soft bed until the end of time.

  The telephone rang just then, disturbing the lazy tranquility of the moment. Meghan flinched at the strident sound. “I don’t want to answer that.”

  Jack knew how she felt. It might be Roz with news—“You’d better.”

  “I know,” she reached for the receiver. “Hello?” Every vestige of postcoital pink drained from her cheeks. “What?”

  Instantly alert, he read the absolute shock and horror in her eyes.

  Meghan cupped one slightly trembling hand over the receiver and said, “She’s dead.”

  “Who?”

  Chapter Eight

  “SHE WHO?” JACK ASKED AS HE FOLLOWED HER LEAD and scrambled out of bed.

  “Jenna,” Meghan said as she struggled to dress. “That was Detective Cerventes. He said Jenna committed suicide and . . .” She paused and pressed her hands to her mouth, shaking her head as her eyes filled with tears that never fell. He watched as she sucked in a deep breath, then continued. “He said she left a note claiming she was responsible for the Santa murders.”

  “Jenna?” he repeated. “Dad’s mistress, Jenna? The one who was supposed to come over here for dinner?”

  She nodded. “The same one who would never, ever kill herself or anyone else.”

  After pulling on his jeans and shirt, Jack helped her button the blouse she grabbed from the closet. Her hands were trembling, as was her bottom lip, yet she managed to keep it together.

  He reached up and grasped her shoulders, then looked directly into her eyes. “Are you absolutely sure, Meghan? I mean you can never really know everything about another person.”

  She shrugged out of his hold. “We’re not talking about a secret pill habit, Jack. I’ve known this woman for years,” she insisted as she tugged the bed covers into a version of order. “Yes, she’s been unhappy—even depressed—since my father died. And yes, she occasionally drinks too much. But there’s no way anyone could convince me that she killed the Santas, injured Darius, or intended to hurt me. Note or no note. Cerventes is on his way over here. He said he has some questions.”

  “Maybe you should listen to him before you decide that Jenna couldn’t have done it. Maybe the evidence—”

  “Is a big pile of bullshit.” She glared at him. “Trust me, Jack. I don’t know how, but I know this is totally wrong.”

  “Fine.”

  She stopped in midstride and turned toward him. “Fine? That’s it?”

  He shrugged and rubbed the tension beginning to knot at the base of his skull. “I didn’t know the woman. I’m willing to wait and see Cerventes’s evidence before I debate the possibilities—pro or con—with you.”

  Cerventes arrived fifteen minutes later carrying an evidence bag. Jack greeted him and showed him into the living room where Meghan stood by the tinted window, staring out at the ocean beyond.

  His heart felt heavy as he watched her automated movements as she tried to smile at the detective. She offered the detective a seat on one of three sofas, then sat opposite Cerventes. Jack moved to join her, sitting close enough to elicit a nonverbal response from the other man.

  “We recovered this at the scene,” Cerventes stated gently as he paced the bagged note on the table separating the sofas.

  The single page was splattered with what Jack recognized as high-velocity blood splatter. He heard Meghan’s sharp intake of breath on seeing the note and put his hand on her knee as he leaned forward and took a closer look.

  As promised, the note contained a full confession for the killings as well as an explanation. According to the suicide note, Jenna’s goal had been to destroy Beckham’s as punishment for Beckham Sr. not leaving her anything when he died. Jack had to admit it was plausible. Revenge and money were two pretty popular motives in his experience.

  “Is it Jenna’s handwriting?” he asked, tilting the encased letter in Meghan’s direction.

  After studying it for a moment, she nodded reluctantly. “But I don’t care what it says. Jenna did not do this.”

  Cerventes cleared his throat. “There’s more, Miss Beckham. We recovered bolt cutters in her apartment. Initial testing indicated the tool marks match those on the elevator cables.”

  Meghan didn’t flinch. “I don’t care if they match the rifle Oswald used to shoot Kennedy. Jenna was not a killer.”

  “We also recovered the same poison used in the sweetener packets for the first slaying.”

  Meghan was unwavering in her conviction. “There has to be some other explanation, Detective. Keep investigating.”

  Cerventes stood. “I’m sorry, Miss Beckham, but as far as the Palm Beach Police Department is concerned, this matter is closed.”

  She shot off the sofa like a rocket. “You can’t do that! Somehow, someone forced Jenna to write that note and planted evidence in her apartment.”

  “There’s no indication of that, Miss Beckham. With your identification of the handwriting, this investigation is closed. It’s over, Miss Beckham.”

  Meghan rolled onto her side and grabbed the phone, dialing the number by rote. Casey answered on the third ring. All she needed to hear was the sound of her sister-in-law’s voice and Meghan burst into tears. Given the events of the previous twenty-four hours, she deserved a good cry.

  “Jenna was bitter,” Casey said cautiously.

  “I never dreamed she was that bitter,” Meghan admitted now that she’d had some time to absorb the truth of the facts presented by Cerventes. “Not enough to hurt complete strangers, me, and herself. At least I never thought so. Maybe it does make sense—kind of. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but there really is no way to explain away her handwriting.”

  “This is shocking news, Meghan. I’m going to come over. I have to cancel a few things, but I can be there in thirty minutes or so.”

  She rolled onto her back and watched the blades of the ceiling fan spin. The pillow still held the memory of Jack’s scent. It
brought Meghan an odd comfort. But one she knew was merely borrowed. “No, that’s not necessary, really. I’m going to hang out here for a little bit longer then go into the store for a while.”

  “You aren’t going to the store,” Casey insisted.

  Meghan took a deep breath and relaxed it slowly. “I need to. Habit. Besides, I don’t know what else to do,” she admitted. What were her other options? Run out and beg Jack to stay and . . . what? Case over. Closed. Jenna had confessed. Evidence didn’t lie. Much as it pained her, she was coming around to accept that.

  Saying good-bye to Jack was part and parcel of acceptance. Even if she didn’t want to.

  “Well, you are going to stay home. At least for today. Get rid of your bodyguard and we’ll hang out and then later I’ll go grab dinner and we can watch old movies. I’ll even spend the night. How’s that?”

  “Good, but I really hate to impose on you,” Meghan admitted, wiping the remnants of her tears away. “Really,” she sniffed. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’m coming over, Meghan. I insist,” Casey offered without hesitation. “What about the cute bodyguard? When is he leaving?”

  “I’m about to send him on his way.”

  “You must be relieved. I know how much you like your privacy and how much you didn’t want him around.”

  Meghan was a lot of things, but relieved wasn’t one of them. Confused, scared, angry, sad, frustrated. And for the first time in forever, alone sounded really lonely. Still, she needed to get Jack out of her life before she did something really pathetic—such as beg him to stay.

  “I’m really sorry about Jenna,” Casey offered.

  Me too, Meghan thought. “Thanks, Casey. And thanks for caring.”

  “What’s family for?”

  She was pondering that question after she hung up the phone. She lingered, knowing what she had to do and dreading it all at once. Still, she knew putting it off would only make it worse. It was time to face reality.