Sweet Caroline's Keeper

by Beverly Barton

  She felt his fingers touching her between her legs, dipping inside and spreading the moisture he found. Then he slid his hands beneath her and lifted her to meet him. His first thrust was shallow, entering her with only the tip of his sex. Cling­ing to his shoulders, she lifted her legs, urging him to delve deeper. He took her by slow degrees, careful to allow her time to accommodate the length and width of him. When he encountered her virginal barrier, he paused, but she would have none of it. She lifted her hips higher, taking him deeper into her body as she wrapped her legs around his hips. The moment he broke through, she gasped, then held on to him, whimpering his name. As if he could hold back no longer, he took her completely, plunging himself fully into her.

  Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. He kissed them away. "I've wanted you so much. . .for so long. . .."

  Their bodies moved together in perfect unison. Unparal­leled passion. Indescribable pleasure. An earth-shattering lov­ing. Caroline could not believe that her body was capable of a second climax so quickly following the first or that the second would surpass the first. She fell apart, crying, moan­ing, her body trembling only moments before his body tensed and his face contorted into an expression of pain. And then an animalistic moan erupted from deep in his chest when he came. Spasms rocketed through him as her body drained the last ounce of strength from his. He kissed her, devouring her with a passion that a thousand climaxes could never appease. "Mine," he murmured. "My sweet Caroline."

  Chapter 15

  Laying beside Caroline, Wolfe watched her while she slept. He intended to savor every minute with her and store up enough memories to last a lifetime. He had disregarded doing the decent, honorable thing and done the unforgivable. But what man, under the same circumstances, could have denied himself the thing he wanted most in this world? She would never know his deep, dark secret. He promised her that—a solemn, heartfelt vow. Even Caroline, as loving and under­standing as she was, would not be able to forgive Aidan Colbert's sins. And if it turned out that Preston Shaw had been executed because of falsified evidence. . .! But now was not the time for soul-searching, for dredging up guilt and adding more to his already overburdened conscience. He would not waste these precious days he'd been given with Caroline. They were a gift from the gods, one he didn't de­serve, but clung to tenaciously and with gratitude.

  Just being near her aroused him. Her sweet, feminine smell. Her soft, vulnerable beauty. The steady rise and fall of her full, round breasts only half-covered by the sheet. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered. He kissed each cheek and brushed his lips over hers. She wriggled against him and sighed.

  He couldn't justify what he'd done with her, what he in­tended doing again, as often as possible. But at this point, he was beyond caring. It wasn't as if he planned to stay in her life, become a permanent fixture. One week. One damn week—that's all he was asking for. After that, he would free her and free himself. He had no choice. To ask for more would mean taking a huge risk—a risk that she would dis­cover the truth about him. Not only that he was her benefac­tor, but that he was Aidan Colbert, the Peacekeepers agent who had killed her stepfather.

  Wolfe lifted the sheet, then slipped his hand between her thighs, palming her mound as his fingers curled over her tender flesh. Gasping, Caroline opened her eyes and looked up at him.

  "How sore are you?" he asked, his voice heavy with de­sire.

  Smiling, she lifted her hand to clamp the back of his neck, then dragged his mouth down to hers. "Not terribly sore," she said against his lips. "I think my body can survive mak­ing love one more time. But after this, you might have to let me recuperate for the rest of the day." She kissed him, not like a lady, but like a woman. Wet and hot. Tongue thrusting, body arching.

  "Don't you know that for more of your sweet loving, I'd promise you any thing. . . give you anything?" His heartbeat picked up speed as he fondled her, dipping a couple of fingers into the moisture that told him how ready she was for what he wanted.

  "I understand." She closed her thighs, trapping his hand between them, and rubbed her body sensuously against his. "Nothing should be this good. . .this wonderful. . .."

  Wolfe leaned over and lifted a condom off the nightstand. This was his last one. He always kept one in his wallet, which he had used when they'd made love at the studio. When he was on an assignment there was no need for a supply of condoms, so he hadn't packed any. By the time he and Car­oline had left the studio, he realized there wouldn't be a store open where he could purchase more, so he'd been forced to do something he hadn't done since he was a green kid. He'd borrowed condoms from another guy. He'd figured that a ladies' man like Jack Parker would be prepared at all times, on an assignment or not. And he had to give Jack credit, the man hadn't made one rude comment. He had simply handed over three condoms without saying a word.

  After preparing himself, David swooped Caroline up and over him, knocking the sheet to their feet as he positioned her on top of him. She straddled his hips. He bucked upward, seeking entrance. Because of her lack of experience, the three previous times he had been the aggressor, but this time he wanted her to set the pace, to take charge.

  "Think you can handle me?" he asked.

  "Ooh. . .ooh." The taunting sound came through her puck­ered lips as she lifted herself up on her knees, ran her hand between their bodies and circled his erection. "I'm willing to try really hard. Later, you can let me know how I did." A tantalizing, bewitching smile curved her lips.

  She brought him to her, then positioned herself and took him into her body. Gradually. Inch by excruciating inch. Why the hell didn't she end this torment and take all of him? Now! Before he died from the tension building inside him? But he had taught her well, the art of slow torture. It took every ounce of his willpower not to thrust up and into her.

  As her sheath enveloped him, she slid her legs along the side of his body until they were joined completely from their hips down, then she pressed her breasts against his chest and lay there. Still. Perfectly still. Their heartbeats synchronized. Their breathing set to the same rhythm. His sex instinctively quivered inside her, begging for relief.

  "I'm warning you, sweetheart," he said. "Don't make me wait too long."

  "Is teasing the beast dangerous?" She lifted herself up, gliding over him, withdrawing until her body clutched only the head of his sex. "Will he devour me?"

  David grabbed her by the hips and plunged her down so that she was forced to accept all of him. She cried out when he filled her completely, stretching her to the limit. Her body could not resist the urgent pressure, the throbbing need that prompted her to move. Up and down. Appeasing the beast within him. . .and discovering her own untamed animal na­ture. Once unleashed, the primitive woman within her took control. While she rode him, hard and fast, he mouthed her breasts. Sucking, nipping, licking. Her sheath tightened around him and she keened, softly at first, then louder and louder until she was all but screaming when she came. The force of her release triggered his and within seconds of her climax, he shuddered with completion. Needing nothing more. Totally fulfilled.

  "Yeah, thanks, Art," Gavin Robbins said. "Let me know if you find out anything else."

  He hung up the telephone, then slammed his fist down on his desk and cursed. Art Singleton was a friend who worked at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. He and Art had done favors for each other more than once over the years, and neither hesitated when it came to bending the rules when necessary. Gavin had given Art a name—David Wolfe—and asked his old buddy to run a check on the man. That task hadn't taken long, but had yielded nothing of any signifi­cance. Wolfe had been recruited straight out of the army and had been assigned overseas for most of his thirteen-year ca­reer. Art assured Gavin that the records didn't show anything out of the ordinary, nothing that red-flagged Wolfe as any­thing other than what Ellison Penn had said he was—a for­mer agent who had retired and gone into the personal security business.

  "The guy's rec
ord is as clean as a whistle," Art had said. "What about his personal life?"

  "Hell, man, as far as I can find out, he didn't have one."

  "No friends? No women?"

  "I'm telling you that the guy might as well have not ex­isted. Nobody seems to remember him. And I checked with people who've been around for years."

  "What about men who worked overseas the years Wolfe was there? Surely somebody remembers him."

  "Some of those guys are dead and others are still out of the country, but I can keep checking, if that's what you want. But so far, nothing."

  "That's what I want. Keep digging," Gavin had said.

  There was something all wrong about David Wolfe. Gavin would bet his last dime on it. And he intended to find out just what it was. His instincts warned him that Ellison Penn was trying to pull a fast one. But why? For what purpose? He figured that the whole thing had something to do with Preston Shaw. What, dammit, what? Gavin had racked his brain until he couldn't think straight. But he wouldn't let anything get by him. He was too close to achieving his goals to allow anyone or anything to interfere at this late date.

  Wolfe remained by the door of studio two, quiet and out of the way, keeping watch while Caroline worked. He found her totally fascinating. Every inclination of her head. Every twist of an arm or leg. Each smile. Each frown. The way her ponytail bobbed up and down as she bent and swerved, leaned and switched directions, all the while snapping away. Pose after pose. Picture after picture. And during the entire process, Caroline captured the playful mischievousness of a five-year-old little hellion named Abigail Faith Lasley. He had to give Roz a great deal of credit for managing not to beat the precocious child within an inch of her spoiled-rotten life as she worked with Abigail to return her to the poses needed for the photographs. Perhaps no one else noticed the maternal potential in Rozalin Turner. But Wolfe saw it. Roz was a natural, the type of woman who would be able to handle half a dozen screaming kids and make the job look easy.

  He glanced toward Lyle Jennings, who had arrived ten minutes ago, early for the lunch date he'd made with Caro­line. A sort of day-late birthday celebration. Wolfe had asked Kirsten to order something for their lunch and then run out and pick it up from a local restaurant. It was simply easier to guard Caroline within the confines of her studio than it was to keep her safe in public areas. Wolfe noticed that Lyle seemed as captivated as he was—but by another woman. Roz. Wolfe barely suppressed a chuckle. If any man could recognize that look in another man's eyes, Wolfe could. . .today. . .considering the fact that Caroline had him mesmerized. So, the good reverend had a thing for the wild and free Roz. And from the occasional sidelong glances that she was giving Lyle, Wolfe suspected the feeling was mutual. The bad girl and the preacher. A classic case of opposites.

  The photo shoot ran over fifteen minutes, due mainly not to the subject of the session, but because of her demanding mother. Mrs. Bradford Lasley simply couldn't be satisfied, requesting "just one more shot" half a dozen times. Finally Caroline politely called a halt and with her Southern charm assured Mrs. Lasley that the pictures of Abigail would be sheer perfection.

  The minute mother and daughter had been escorted out to their waiting limo, Kirsten told Wolfe that lunch was set up in the enclosed courtyard, per his instructions. Caroline led Lyle and Roz outside, while Wolfe followed behind. He re­mained constantly on alert, always mindful of even a hint of danger. The June sunshine was half-hidden behind gray rain clouds and a whisper of wind breezed through the boxed shrubbery and springtime flower beds. The fancy wrought-iron table was spread with sandwiches, chips and colas.

  "We'll have to rush," Roz said. "Forty-five minutes won't give us time to do more than gulp down lunch and then get things set up for the afternoon session with Mrs. Welch and her two daughters."

  Wolfe pulled out a chair for Caroline. She graced him with a warm smile, then sat and kept her gaze connected to his while he took the chair beside her. Roz tapped her foot, ap­parently waiting for Lyle to prove he, too, knew how to be a gentleman. Much to Lyle's credit, he picked up on Roz's cue. When he held out a chair for her, she all but cooed.

  The, foursome sat quietly, unwrapping their sandwiches, spreading apart napkins and inserting straws through the plas­tic lids on their drinks. Wolfe would have preferred lunch alone with Caroline. Actually, he would have preferred skip­ping lunch and having Caroline. Ever since his first sexual encounter when he'd been a teenager, he had been a man with a healthy sexual appetite, but as he'd grown older he had learned to control his baser instincts and curtail his en­counters. But he was finding out that his hunger for Caroline wasn't easily sated. After having become her lover, he dis­covered that he wanted her more than ever.

  "So, was the birthday surprise Mr. Wolfe planned for you yesterday evening a success?" Lyle asked.

  Caroline almost choked on the bite of Reuben sandwich in her mouth. Roz lifted Caroline's arm and slapped her on the back. Caroline coughed until she dislodged the morsel from her throat, then grabbed her cola and slurped down several huge swallows.

  "Are you all right?" Lyle inspected his cousin's flushed face.

  "I'm fine," Caroline assured him. "And the surprise Wolfe planned for me was wonderful." She glanced at Wolfe, everything that had transpired between them evident in that heated look.

  Wolfe had to break eye contact with her. If she kept look­ing at him that way, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing her. Damn!

  Roz giggled nervously. Caroline took a deep breath.

  "Is there something going on that I don't know about?" Lyle glanced from Wolfe to Caroline and then to Roz.

  "Let's give Caroline her presents now," Roz said, reach­ing in her pocket and pulling out a small, gift-wrapped box. "No sense in waiting until after we've eaten."

  Wolfe realized that Roz was using the birthday present as a means to draw Lyle's attention away from what he had undoubtedly sensed as sexual tension radiating from Wolfe and Caroline. Perhaps it was best that Caroline's minister cousin not become aware of the fact that she had lost her innocence to a man totally unworthy of her.

  Caroline grabbed the gift and unwrapped it hurriedly. Just as she opened the lid, Sandy appeared in the studio doorway, the portable telephone in her hand. She looked directly at Wolfe, then motioned to him.

  "Finish opening your gifts," Wolfe said. "I'll take the call."

  When he approached Sandy, she held out the phone and said, "It's Fletcher Shaw. He asked to speak to you."

  Wolfe took the telephone from her and said, "Wolfe here."

  "Yes, Mr. Wolfe, this is Fletcher Shaw. I wanted to run this by you before mentioning it to Caroline." He paused, as if waiting for Wolfe to respond, and when he didn't, Fletcher continued. "I was talking to Mother this morning. She's been away on a cruise, she and her husband, Neall, and they just returned to Baltimore yesterday. Anyway, I was filling her in on everything that has happened to Caroline. Her finding the key and the attempts on her life and my hiring you to protect her."

  "Is there a point to this story?" Wolfe asked impatiently.

  "Of course there is," Fletcher replied. "As I was saying, Mother and I were discussing the situation. Naturally, she was upset to learn that poor old Teddy Richards had been killed. She'd known him since she was a young girl. But the crux of the matter is this—Mother remembered something, a place where Father could have hidden the evidence he men­tioned in his letter to Lenore."

  "What place?" Wolfe smiled at Caroline when she held up a pair of theater tickets, Roz's gift, then laid them aside and began ripping the paper from Lyle's gift.

  "It's a hunting lodge, or at least it used to be a hunting lodge years ago," Fletcher said. "I vaguely remember Father taking me there when I was a boy. I'd forgotten all about the place, until Mother mentioned it. She said it's a rather large old cabin. Several of father's friends, including Oliver Har­per, co-owned the place at one time. They mostly used it to get away from D.C., just the guys, to
do a little fishing."

  "Where is this cabin?"

  "Over in the western end of the state, in Garrett County."

  "Do you have any idea when your father went there last?" David asked.

  "I can't be sure, but I do remember him getting away by himself for a long weekend, sometime during the month be­fore he died. I can call Oliver and ask him if he still owns the place. He might recall the last time my father went there."

  "After you speak to Oliver Harper, call me back," Wolfe said. "If your father spent any time there the last few months of his life, then it might be worth checking out. But I don't intend to mention this to Caroline, unless there's a good rea­son."

  "I agree. That's why I asked to speak to you. Caroline has been through more than enough."

  "Thanks, Fletcher."

  "No need to thank me. I care very much for Caroline. Her happiness and welfare are of great importance to me. The sooner we solve this damned mystery about the key, the bet­ter for her. The better for all of us."

  Wolfe grunted. "Get back in touch with me after you've spoken to Oliver Harper."

  Caroline waved at Wolfe, motioning him to her. He tossed the portable phone on a nearby chaise longue and walked across the courtyard.

  Caroline held up the theater tickets and pointed to the mul­ticolored scarf she'd wrapped around her neck. "The tickets are for next month's performance at the little theater, if things are safe by then. And look at this beautiful scarf from Lyle."

  Wolfe nodded. "Nice."

  "Who was that on the phone?" she asked.

  "Fletcher."

  "And he wanted to speak to you?" Lyle inquired.

  "Yes." Wolfe sat down beside Caroline and could not resist touching her hand where it rested on the table. "He was just checking on you. I assured him that you're all right."

  "Better than all right," Caroline said, her gaze locking with Wolfe's.

  Lyle cleared his throat and glanced away.

  "You two could be a little more subtle, you know," Roz said. "Lyle might still be a virgin, but he's not blind. Even the uninitiated could pick up on the vibes between you two."