by Vonna Harper
What was that, a collective sigh? But much as she wanted to believe that, how could she expect these unique men to blindly believe what she’d just said? Mato had pivoted toward her, and his arms were now crossed over his chest, his head tilted as he took his measure of her.
You changed me. Even if you care nothing about me, please understand how grateful I am.
“All the way home, I kept thinking about what happened during the public hearing.” That had hardly been the only thing going through her mind, but focusing on anything except Mato had helped keep her sane. “I know it won’t come as a surprise to any of you that I had questions about Mr. Jacobs’s behavior. Some of the things he said about—”
“Were far from objective.”
Wondering if Mato were reading her mind, she nodded. “It’s his job to gather facts, nothing except facts. That’s what the council is designed for. Instead he was biased.”
“What are you getting at?”
25
If she ever had the chance, if they ever spoke privately again, she’d let Mato know how much she admired his intellect. “I think the best way to answer that is by letting everyone know what’s going to appear in tomorrow’s newspaper,” she said. Then, though she knew the words almost by heart, she started reading.
“Something’s rotten in Denmark. No, not the real Denmark, but a place much closer to home. The stink overwhelms me, and once I’m done explaining, I believe you will agree. And demand action.”
Done with the grabber introduction, she launched into the meat of her article. “The Northwest Fisheries Council is a state agency charged with safeguarding this part of the country’s fish population while at the same time acknowledging the inevitability of growth. Established twenty years ago, it was designed to function independent of political and private influences. Neither commercial or environmental, at the core was a commitment to ensure viable fish populations now and in the future, a worthy and perhaps idealistic premise. Unfortunately human beings are council members, and as such they are fallible and corruptible.”
She’d deliberately ended the paragraph with the word corruptible, so she let it hang. No one spoke; she couldn’t even hear anyone breathing.
“That’s what bothered me in the wake of having attended a recent so-called public hearing monitored by council employee Beale Jacobs and held in a small and isolated community that was selected as the site of an ambitious upscale development by NewDirections.”
She’d gone on to describe NewDirections’s background and goals, naming the principal backers and their financial resources but saying nothing about her sources. One of the benefits of having lived and worked in Portland as long as she had was that she’d developed a number of reliable contacts. By keeping their identities to herself, she’d ensured that they’d continue to supply her with the information she needed.
“Red flags started flying while I was researching the NewDirections backers, specifically the principal one. Andrew Stephens, who, although he’ll probably deny it, is what passes as NewDirections’s president. He married into money with his first marriage to Maggie Thetford, only child of Kip Thetford. Yes, that’s Kip Electronics, the region’s largest electrical firm, perhaps most well known for its successful bids on many city construction contracts.”
She paused, wondering if anyone would ask how she’d uncovered that information, but the movers and shakers of the state’s urban areas meant little to these people.
“Andrew divorced Maggie three years ago and promptly married a woman twenty years his junior, an exquisite creature. One might call her Andrew’s trophy wife. Oh, her name? Jennifer Jacobs.”
A collective gasp followed her last words. Mato’s eyes first widened and then darkened, and in their depths she saw the silhouette of a hawk.
“I have no doubt readers are ahead of me now,” she continued reading once she’d pulled herself together. “Yes, Jennifer Jacobs is related to the Northwest Fisheries Council fact finder. They’re siblings. In other words, guess who is guarding the henhouse?”
Another gasp, along with a number of curses, let her know she’d hit her mark. Excitement born of a reporter’s instincts filled her as she went on. Although there was a lot more to the story than had made its way into her article, she believed her summation had hit all the high spots. She’d taken everything she’d uncovered to the governor’s office. Instead of allowing herself to be shuffled off to some obscure aide, she’d held firm until she was granted a meeting with no less than the lieutenant governor. The state’s highest office could do what it wanted with her facts, she’d told the somber and intense man yesterday. But she’d made it clear she intended to air the council’s dirty laundry in public, trusting that the public would insist on a thorough investigation into an illegal financial connection between NewDirections Development and the Northwest Fisheries Council.
“I received a call from the governor’s legal team this morning,” she concluded. “In two days I’ll be meeting with them. I have no crystal ball, but I wouldn’t be surprised if NewDirections withdraws its application for this resort development. I’m also convinced Mr. Jacobs will soon be resigning from the council. There might be more rocks to turn over, but I believe the largest boulder’s underbelly has now been exposed to the light of day and accountability.”
Suddenly exhausted, she let go of the pages she’d sweated over, and they drifted back into her briefcase. Did these men understand how much effort had gone into not just her article but her demands to be heard?
Did Mato?
Sensing someone approaching, she looked up to see Mato’s uncle closing in on her. She started to backstep and then stopped as he reached for what she’d been holding. “Can I have this?” he asked.
“Of course. Like I said, it’s going to be in tomorrow’s paper.”
Muttering something she couldn’t understand, he began silently reading. Tension seemed to be flowing out of him, giving rise to a desire in her to get to know the older man, to understand what he’d been through in life and what, if anything, he still wanted to accomplish.
Then Mato grabbed her arm, and nothing else mattered. “We need to talk. Alone.”
Somehow they were outside before she’d decided to accompany him. The night, though cool, was probably warmer than it would be in Portland, thanks to the coastal influence. If she lived in Storm Bay, she could open her window when she went to bed and—live in Storm Bay, what was she thinking?
Half leading and half pulling, Mato backed her against the side of his pickup. He didn’t have to touch her for her to know she wasn’t supposed to move, not that she wanted to. In the dark she couldn’t tell whether a hawk silhouette still lived in his eyes, but it didn’t matter, because she sensed the predator’s presence. Surrounded by its energy, she only just managed to keep her reaction to Mato at bay.
“That’s all you’re going to write?” he asked, his breath sliding over her forehead and along her temples. “Nothing about what brought you here in the first place?”
“I said—”
“I heard you, but now you’re talking to me, not a room full of men who might turn on you if they believe their safety and freedom’s at stake.”
She didn’t care about those other men—just him. “You don’t believe me, do you?” Her heart ached, and yet could she blame him?
“I don’t dare.”
“Yes!” she snapped. “You do dare! Damn it, Mato, why would I lie to you?”
Looming over her, he exhaled. “Because it would be the biggest story of any reporter’s career.”
He was so much more than she’d ever expected, energy and strength and the sexiest man she’d ever know. And elusive, like his spirit, capable of flight. If he turned from her now, she’d never see him again. A hawk in every way that counted, he’d let the wind carry him away.
Not long ago she’d been his prisoner and desperate to regain her freedom. Now everything had turned around and she was the one holding the ropes and chains—u
nless he disappeared into the wilderness.
Or believed her.
“Go back inside,” she whispered, feeling as if she were losing form and substance herself. “Bring out my briefcase. We’ll tear everything up together. Or, if you want, take it to your place and throw it into your fireplace. My laptop’s in my trunk. Do you want it as well?”
“Your laptop?”
“And my backup files. All yours.”
Placing his knuckles under her chin, he lifted her head. Connecting with him kept her from drifting off like fog, but it would take so little to lose herself.
“Your career is wrapped up in your laptop?” he said.
“And in the backups. Every article I’ve ever written, names and phone numbers of my sources, future story ideas—do you know what I’m saying?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Are you willing to do this?”
Don’t you understand? You’re worth more than—suddenly trembling, she tried shaking her head to clear it, but he cupped her chin, stopping her.
Impossible! another voice insisted. No man was worth her career, her means of supporting herself, her sense of self-worth.
But without at least Mato’s trust, did anything else matter?
“There’s nothing about you I’d change,” she told him. “Not even the things I don’t understand. You stormed into my world and…”
Dizzier than she’d been a moment ago, she steadied herself by holding on to his hips. The contact was all it took for her to remember the liquid moments not just in his arms but pressed against his body. Him inside her.
Walking into his home, shedding their clothes as they hurried into the bedroom, reaching out at the same time and tumbling onto the bed that smelled and even tasted of him and sex. Guiding his hand to her core and crying out as he stroked her so she became wet and soft for him. Reaching between her legs and gathering some of the liquid heat and depositing it first on his lips and then her own.
Letting him flip her onto her belly and lifting herself as he placed a pillow under her hips. Opening her stance as far as she could and gripping the bedspread and looking back over her shoulder at him as he positioned himself and then speared her.
Lifting her head and sobbing in delight, following his journey deep inside her and then—then becoming lost in fireworks and a screaming climax. Trembling from trying to keep him in her and the hot flood of his cum shooting deep and spreading throughout her, closing down her senses until only inner sight remained.
Above them a hawk clutched a poster. Watched. Judged.
“Are you all right?”
“I don’t know.” Do you approve, Spirit? Because without that, Mato and I have no chance. “Being around you does crazy things to me.”
“I’d never want that.”
Wouldn’t most men embrace the sense of power that came from knowing they could turn a woman into butter? But, then, Mato wasn’t most men, as witnessed by the images that had her silently begging for him. “What do you want?” she recklessly asked.
Releasing her chin, he slid his hand behind her neck and began massaging her. A few minutes ago she’d thought she’d been turning into fog or mist, but that was nothing compared to the sensations wrapping around her now. Portland was a world away, her job and rent and utilities payments the concern of some person she barely recognized. Where once Mato had kept her in place with ropes, now all it took were his fingers for her to feel complete.
Mato the man, not the hawk.
“I want sanity,” he whispered. “When you left, I told myself I could put myself back together. Again become what my spirit needs me to be. But I was wrong.”
Even with his heat slipping through every inch of her being, she understood what he was saying. Hawk Spirit exerted an ancient power over Mato, but she’d made her own impact on him.
Just as he had on her.
“Why are we fighting?” she asked.
“I didn’t know we were.”
“All right, maybe not fighting.” Think. Find words that make sense. “We’re like animals sniffing around each other, not allowing ourselves to trust or show vulnerability.”
On the tail of a long sigh, he asked, “Why do you believe that is?”
Don’t put it all on me! Don’t you understand, I can’t think with you this close. But maybe he felt the same way. “Maybe—maybe because what we’re feeling is too much.”
“I don’t want it that way.”
“Neither do I.”
Their admissions seemed to float between them not as something to be afraid of but to be embraced and built on. Believing he felt the same way, she wrapped her arms around his neck. She was lifting herself onto her toes when he met her mouth-to-mouth.
On her back now, legs uplifted and resting against his chest, nails digging into him as her release crashed into her. She rode on his cock, more part of him than a separate being, sweating and loud, absorbing his harsh grunts and fierce pummeling of her.
His explosion freed her, took her over the top again, had her laughing and crying at the same time.
“Do—do you need to stay here?” she asked.
“No. Do you?”
“Not if you aren’t going to.”
Silence. Familiar. Hunger pressing at her from all sides, and his hold on her making it difficult to breathe. Finally: “Wait here. I’ll get your material.”
She wanted to tell him that her briefcase could wait because she trusted those men, but he was already walking away from her, his strong legs taking him up the stairs and inside, leaving her alone—briefly.
He needs you.
“No more than I do him,” she told Mato’s spirit. “What about you? You aren’t done with him; you might never be.”
As long as threats to this land exist, he must stand strong against them.
“Yes, he does. But, Hawk Spirit, there’s more than one kind of weapon, more than violence. Laws and the written word can be just as powerful.”
Together.
Yes, together, she agreed. Just like her and Mato Hawk.
Turn the page and
ESCAPE TO ECSTASY
with Jodi Lynn Copeland!
On sale now!
1
“Treah?”
The lone word drifted from the speaker of Treah Baldwin’s office phone, slipping around him like an old favorite love song. Warm and inviting, soothing yet smoky. Hers was a voice he could never forget.
Unlike breathing.
Hearing Dana Lancer’s voice now, after eight years of no contact, had the air stilled in his throat and his body stone stiff in the desk chair. This call shouldn’t come as such a surprise. They hadn’t spoken personally, but she’d contacted the female-targeted, sensual healing resort last month to book an appointment for her twin sister, Deanne.
Apparently, knowing that she’d called and hearing her voice were two very different things.
Letting his breath out, Treah grabbed the cordless phone off the receiver. He would be damned if she hung up because he was too dumbstruck to say hello. He also didn’t want Sonya Grigg—his recently hired, incredibly reserved personal assistant, who was stationed in the receptionist area outside his closed door—overhearing the conversation. The young blonde came highly recommended, but something about her timidity rubbed him the wrong way. Honestly, though, it could be nothing more than losing Gwen, his previous PA and one-time lover, to her greed, that made him leery of anyone handling resort information outside of himself and Chris, the resort manager and a long-time friend.
With Gwen’s deception still so fresh, frustration added to his surprise, making his response sound near breathless. “Hello, Dana.”
Soft laughter pealed from the other end of the phone line. “Sorry to disappoint you but this isn’t Dana.”
Of course it was. Had to be. Or had endless thoughts of her, piqued by Gwen’s accusation that he was still in love with his ex, made him so eager to hear from Dana that he made another w
oman become her?
Regardless of the answer, he needed to regain control of his emotions.
Relaxing in the chair, Treah looked across the office to the patio door. He kept the storm door in place for when hurricane warnings went up. On days like this, when the temperature was nearing eighty and the sun blistered down on the private island’s white-sand beach, the screen door was more than enough protection against the elements.
The warm salt breeze drifted in off the ocean, slowing the rapid beat of his heart as it almost always managed to do. “No need to be sorry. I was just expecting a call from someone else. What can I do for you?”
The woman’s laughter sounded again, lighter and with a teasing edge that called him a liar despite his relaxed tone. “Someone else, huh? Someone who happens to sound exactly like my sister?”
“Deanne.” Not Dana but close enough to his ex to bring a smile of familiarity to his lips. “How are you?”
“Good. Just not good enough for Dana’s liking.” The amusement vanished from her voice. “She signed me up for a trip to your resort.”
Dana knew that he owned Ecstasy Island? How did she feel about it?
Hell, he shouldn’t care and, yet, he had to know more. “How did she find out I own this place?”
“She didn’t. We read about it in the Herald last month. There was no owner name listed, but you know how Dana and I tend to think alike?”
“Yeah.” Most of the time they did. Deanne had never agreed with Dana’s leaving him.
“We obviously both thought the resort worth trying out, because I called to schedule her an appointment and found out she’d already booked one for me. I don’t need to come there. Dana does. I asked your manager to arrange a swap, but he said I would have to speak with you. There aren’t too many Treah’s out there. Probably only one Treah Baldwin.”
Their self-assurance was another way in which they differed. Deanne he could see potentially needing help with getting over a fear. Dana, not unless she’d changed drastically. The woman he knew had confidence in spades. Not to mention obstinacy and passion. She took life on full speed ahead, with no thought to fearing the outcome. “Why do you want her to come here?”