by Day Leclaire
But he didn’t and one look at the hard determination cutting across his face warned that he’d set his plans in stone. Any hope she had of swaying him would not just meet with disappointment, but with disaster.
“I will not tolerate any further interference on your part,” he told her, his voice underscoring the hint of mercilessness she’d caught in his expression. “Are we clear on that point, Nikki?”
She pulled back from his embrace. “We’re clear. But I don’t have to like it.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And in case I haven’t been clear on that point. I don’t.”
“I believe you’ve been crystal clear,” he said with a slight smile that did nothing to improve her temper. “Are you going home or would you like to spend the night at my place?”
She gave herself permission to stew for a full thirty seconds before lifting her shoulder in a quick, impatient shrug. “Your place.”
“Excellent. We can break in the hot tub together.”
Her eyes widened. “Hot tub? You have a hot tub? When did you get a hot tub?”
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It was meant to be a surprise for this weekend. I had it installed yesterday. You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to resist christening it without you. It’s been sitting there calling to me all day.”
“Funny.” She slanted him a swift look. “I hear it calling to me, too. In fact, I think my name’s written all over it with a giant arrow that says, ‘plant backside here.’”
“I might have noticed your name.” He held up two fingers pinched together. “In teeny-tiny print and a warning label. Something to do with combustible materials.”
She allowed her irritation to fade and amusement to take its place. “Combustible only when combined.”
“Oh, I do plan on combining. And shaking. Maybe lighting a fuse or two.”
Her mouth curled into a reluctant smile. As much as she wanted to stay angry at him, it wouldn’t serve any useful purpose. “I think you already lit a fuse or two.” She caught his hand in hers and tugged. “Come on. Let’s go watch the fireworks.”
“To hell with watching.” He scooped her close. “I plan to set them off. Personally.”
* * *
Nikki stretched out on one of the extra wide lounging platforms of Jack’s hot tub and leaned her head back against his shoulder. With the simple push of a button pulsating jets exploded to life, sending warm water bubbling around them. A soft moan escaped her and she followed Jack’s example of closing her eyes and allowing the swirling water to sweep away her cares—particularly those about the Kincaids and how she’d execute her plan to unite Jack with his brothers and sisters now that he was on to her.
“I think I just tripped and fell into paradise,” she told him.
“Thank you.”
Nikki gave a snort of laughter. “Falling onto you is heaven. Falling onto you while in a hot tub is paradise.”
“I believe you’ve overlooked a step.”
“What step is that?”
“The one where you’re naked when you tripped and fell on me while in a hot tub.” He opened a single eye and lifted a questioning eyebrow. “Explain again why you made us wear swimsuits?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” A hint of sarcasm competed with laughter. “Maybe the small matter of our sitting on your deck out in the open.”
“That’s what the privacy screens are for. Besides, there aren’t any homes nearby. I bought the property all around this place to ensure my privacy.”
“And if someone wanders down the beach?”
“We’re too far away for them to see anything… Much.” His nimble fingers skated along her spine and an instant later the top of her swimsuit floated away. “There. That’s a huge improvement. At least, we’re halfway there.”
Water frothed around her breasts like a teasing caress. She’d never realized how arousing pulsating water could be. “Would it help move us closer to paradise if I mention that the bottoms tie on?” Nikki tilted her head to glance at him. “No knots, either.”
Jack’s slow smile had heat gathering low in her belly, sliding like silk into her veins where it throbbed and pulsated in rhythm with the water jets. “So all I have to do is give them a little tug?” His hand brushed the curve of her hip. “Like this?”
A moment later her swimsuit bottoms bobbed to the surface, followed by a pair of male trunks. Nikki rolled onto her side to face Jack, supported by the churning water. Since their return to his beach house he’d relaxed. Well, as much as he ever relaxed. She’d pushed too hard, too soon. She realized that now.
Maybe if the annual shareholders meeting wasn’t taking place so soon, a meeting in which a new president and CEO would be voted in to replace the late Reginald Kincaid, she wouldn’t have had to escalate her plan to unite Jack with the Kincaids. Clearly, reconciling with two Kincaids in one day had been more than Jack could handle. That, combined with her assessment of the career he’d pursued and his motivation for choosing that career, had thrown him into full emotional retreat.
She slid her fingertips along his stubbled jawline then followed the contours of his mouth, gathering his smile in the palm of her hand, as well as a lingering kiss. “What are you in the mood to eat for dinner tonight?” she asked.
“You. Just you.”
She laughed, delighted they’d gotten back onto more familiar footing. “No doubt you’d find that tasty, but not very filling.”
“We can place an order at Indigo’s if seafood appeals. I know how much you like that place.”
“They deliver?” she asked in surprise.
His smile turned smug. “They will for me.” His hand cupped her bottom and he urged her closer. “But later. Much later.”
Jack’s body slid across Nikki’s and she shuddered beneath the abrasive combination of the foaming water and the light pelt of hair covering his chest and legs. Her nipples tightened, peeking above the surface like a pair of dusky pearls. He lowered his head and caught first one then the next between his teeth and she groaned, sliding her fingers into his hair and anchoring him at her breast.
And all the while his nimble fingers played beneath the surface, as tantalizing as the churning jets at stoking the heat gathering there. Her legs parted and her hips tilted upward, offering herself to him. Instead of mating their two bodies, he continued to tease, easing a finger into her warmth, sending her desire skyrocketing to an even higher level.
“I think I see fireworks,” she said with a helpless groan.
“I haven’t heard them go off, yet.”
She couldn’t stand another minute and she reached for him, fisting his hard length in her hands and fitting him to her. He sank inward and she shuddered. It took a few tries before they found their rhythm, the water throwing them off. And then the fire caught: a screaming flash that burned an unstoppable path from one to the other. His name escaped in a powerful rush, bursting into the air. Jack surged into her and Nikki arced helplessly upward, exploding into the grand finale.
They lingered there, the brilliance dazzling in its aftermath. Then bit by bit they drifted back to earth, sinking into the comforting embrace of the warm water, dissolving against each other in a tangle of arms and legs, lingering kisses and soothing strokes. Nikki closed her eyes and burrowed close, more vulnerable than she could ever remember feeling.
When would it fade? When would this desperate need for him ease into something more manageable, something that didn’t threaten to break her heart? Maybe it never would. Their relationship hung by a thread, dangling above a bottomless chasm. The instant Jack discovered she owned the controlling ten percent shares of Kincaid stock—that she could throw control of The Kincaid Group into either his lap or RJ’s, that thread would snap. Because she knew Reginald had intended the position of president and CEO to fall to RJ, had been told so by the late patriarch, himself. And no matter how much she loved Jack, she couldn’t—and wouldn’t—go against her conscience.
A conscience th
at demanded she vote for RJ to succeed his father.
* * *
Monday came all too soon as far as Jack was concerned. Reluctantly, he and Nikki prepared for work. Over the course of the past several months her business suits had joined his in the closet at his beach house. It never failed to amuse him how she would hang them so they marched boy/girl, boy/girl across the wooden support bar.
By the time he reached the kitchen, Nikki already had the coffee brewing. Though he’d told her repeatedly she didn’t need to fix him breakfast, she’d shrugged him off, seeming to enjoy throwing their meal together most mornings. He decided it was a woman thing and let her have her head.
“Veggie omelets?” she offered.
“Sounds great.”
It was his usual response since he saw no point in being particular in the face of Nikki’s generosity. Then again, maybe tomorrow he’d tease her by saying no just to see what she’d do. A moment’s reflection changed his mind. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Considering the tension between them over the Kincaid situation, they sure didn’t need him adding more conflict to the mix, not over his weak attempt at a joke.
Despite the fact he considered Nikki in the wrong for her interference, he knew she meant well. It was that soft heart of hers getting in the way. Fortunately, he’d put an end to it without too much trouble. And even if he’d been forced to reveal far more personal information to Elizabeth and Matt Kincaid than he would have under normal circumstances, he could live with it, so long as he didn’t have to reveal anything further.
Jack pulled the ingredients needed for the omelets from the refrigerator and made short work of chopping the onions and mushrooms, and shredding the spinach. All the while, morning sunshine spilled across the kitchen and landed on Nikki, spotlighting her. It proved a constant distraction. He doubted he’d ever tire of watching her. There was something so vital about her, her movements clean and smooth, yet energetic. Her expression intent, yet easy, with a constant smile half formed on her mouth.
He thought again of the ring he’d bought last month and currently kept tucked away in his dresser drawer. He’d been on the verge of proposing at least a dozen times in the past few weeks. If it hadn’t been for his recent discovery that she worked for the Kincaids, he might have already asked. But something held him back. Unfortunately, he knew what it was.
Nikki was keeping another secret.
The realization had come to him over the course of the weekend, beginning with her blatant attempts to resolve the conflict between him and his Kincaid relatives. Her determination had been underscored by something that felt almost like desperation, as though some crucial factor teetered on the outcome of her efforts. His suspicions had solidified during the night when he’d waken to find her standing on the deck, encased in moonlight, her head bent, her shoulders rounded. It was as though she carried an impossible weight. What he hadn’t quite figured out yet, was whether or not it had anything to do with the Kincaids, or with her latest campaign of trying to form a connection between him and the Legitimates.
Well, hell. Why not just ask her?
Before he could the doorbell rang. Nikki glanced over her shoulder at him. “Who in the world would visit at this hour?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Only one way to find out.”
“If it’s someone we know, invite them back for omelets,” she called to Jack as he left the kitchen. “It won’t take me a second to throw together an extra.”
He opened the door, unpleasantly surprised to discover the detective assigned to his father’s murder investigation standing on his doorstep. Though a couple of inches shorter and a decade or so older than Jack, Charles McDonough was a powerful, impeccably dressed black man with a shaved head that gleamed in the morning light, and dark, patient eyes reflecting a calm intelligence, coupled with an unswerving determination. He’d demonstrated that determination and intelligence the few times he’d interviewed Jack.
Charles inclined his head in greeting. “Good morning, Mr. Sinclair. I’m glad I was able to catch you before you left for the office.” He glanced around. “Nice place you have here.”
“Thanks.” Jack fell back a step. “Come on in.”
The detective stepped across the threshold, his deceptively casual gaze taking in every detail of the airy foyer and the magnificent great room that swept toward the back of the house where a wall of sparkling windows overlooked the restless ocean.
“Very nice,” Charles amended his earlier comment. “If I owned a place like this I’d have every relative in the family tree crawling out for a visit. How about you?”
“I don’t have much in the way of family. Just my brother, Alan, and my mother. But they do stay here whenever they come to Charleston.”
The detective gave a brief laugh. “Bet that’s more often than you’d like.”
“There are times…” Like when Alan arrived on his doorstep unannounced and lingered far longer than the “fish” rule that warned that after three days fish and guests began to smell—and should both be tossed out. Jack gestured toward the hallway to the right. “We’re just having breakfast. I’ve been told to invite you to join us.”
“Us?” McDonough’s stride checked ever so slightly. “Sorry. It didn’t occur to me you’d have company.”
“That’s all right. I believe you and Nikki are old friends.”
“Nikki? Nikki Thomas?”
The detective stepped into the kitchen and his face tightened when he caught sight of her. A hint of anger sparked in his dark eyes at the familiar way she moved around the kitchen, her comfortable attitude telling the detective—or maybe screaming at him—she’d been here often enough to make herself at home. Combine that with the early-morning hour and it wasn’t hard for a man whose profession made him particularly astute at putting two and two together to do some quick math and come up with a very awkward four…that Jack and Nikki were sleeping together.
Considering Charles and Peter Thomas, Nikki’s late father, had once been partners, Jack suspected the detective possessed strong paternal feelings toward her. Paternal feelings that did not bode well for the man who was the “two” having sex with the other “two” in his equation.
Jack sighed. He was so screwed.
Nikki threw a sunny smile over her shoulder. “Morning, Charles.”
“What the hell are you doing here, girl?”
“Having breakfast,” she replied easily. “When I heard your voice I threw an extra omelet on for you.”
“I don’t want an omelet.”
“Too bad. It’s already cooking. I know you, Charles. If you’re out and about this early you left before Raye even climbed out of bed. That means you grabbed a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, if that.” She waved a hand toward the kitchen table. “Go on and sit. Jack, pour Charles a cup of coffee. He likes it with cream and extra sugar. Raye doesn’t let him have the extra sugar, but we’ll keep it our little secret.”
“Darn it, Nikki,” Charles snapped. “You haven’t answered my question.”
But Jack noticed he took a seat, anyway. Unfortunately the look the detective shot in his direction was just shy of murderous. Better to give him the information up-front and be done with it. “We met shortly after my father’s death. We’ve been dating more than three months. It’s serious. You can try to warn her off, but it won’t work. She’s intent on proving my innocence. Two teaspoons of sugar or three?”
The detective’s jaw worked for an endless minute. “Four.”
Jack’s brows shot upward. “Ouch.”
“Yeah, that’s what Raye says. Dump it in there, hand it over and keep your comments to your own damn self.”
Jack complied before taking a seat across from the detective. Nikki dropped plates in front of the two men and, gazes locked and loaded, they dug in. Charles paused long enough to groan. “God, Nikki, when did you learn to cook this good? You’ve been taking lessons from your grandma Thomas, haven’t you?”
“She
might have taught me a couple tricks.”
He worked his way through the omelet, scraped his plate clean enough to remove the pattern then shoved it aside. “Knowing you have your nose stuck in this is a royal pain in the ass, Nikki, but it sure explains a thing or two.” He eased back in his seat, turning his coffee mug in a slow circle that Jack suspected was his typical thinking mode. “Like why Jack here asked Matt Kincaid to get his hands on The Kincaid Group phone records.”
Jack saw red. “Son of a—”
Charles waved him silent. “Kincaid can’t lie worth a damn. As soon as I asked him why he wanted a copy he started squirming like a six year-old with both hands and a foot caught in the cookie jar. Didn’t take much pushing to find out you were behind it.” His gaze switched to Nikki and cooled. “Or rather, Nikki. Her mind works just like her daddy’s did.”
Nikki’s eyes grew misty. “That’s the sweetest thing you ever said to me, Charles.”
“Why do you want the phone records, girl?”
“Actually, it was Jack’s stroke of brilliance.”
“Oh, yeah?” The detective’s attention returned to Jack and cooled further still. “Exactly what stroke of brilliance might that be?”
Jack debated how much to say, well aware if he didn’t explain it to the detective, Nikki would. Since that didn’t leave him much choice, he went ahead and laid out his thought process. “The night Dad was killed, when Elizabeth Kincaid brought him his dinner, did she happen to mention to you that she thought she heard Reginald on the phone when she arrived?”
Charles shook his head. “She did not,” he stated crisply, clearly displeased he lacked information Jack possessed. “Maybe because he wasn’t on the phone. I checked the company phone logs, personally, as well as his cell phone records. One call, outgoing, well before Mrs. Kincaid arrived on the scene. It was to a golfing buddy, confirming a tee-off time.”
“Then who was he speaking to?” Nikki asked.