by Day Leclaire
“And he called Dad on the phone from my office a couple of hours before the murder.”
“As I said,” Alan interrupted. “To invite him to dinner when you weren’t available.”
“That’s it?” she asked, tears of relief welling into her eyes. “You…you’d accuse your own brother of murder based on such flimsy evidence?”
Jack debated asking about the Indiana Jones style hat, but decided against it. There was no proof his brother owned one. And there was no point in tipping too much of his hand. In fact, he regretted coming here at all, for alerting Alan to his suspicions. But at the time Jack had made the decision, rational thought hadn’t factored very strongly into the equation. Besides, he knew damn well what Alan would do if confronted by the police. He’d shift the blame.
Considering he’d gone out of his way to do precisely that by somehow stealing the Aston Martin and setting the scene to point in Jack’s direction, more was needed than a nonexistent hat before going to the police. The phone call made from Carolina Shipping simply wasn’t enough evidence, especially if Alan had their mother for an alibi. Time to stage a graceful retreat.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t realize he was with you.” He forced every ounce of sincerity he could muster into his voice. “I apologize, Alan. Seriously.”
“And well you should,” Alan said. Relief vied with righteous indignation.
“I guess I’m still more upset than I realized over Dad’s death and it’s making me a little crazy.” Jack returned his glass to the liquor cart and glanced at Nikki. “We need to leave now.”
She simply nodded.
He approached his mother and eased her from Alan’s hold, kissing her cheek. “I’ll call you in a few days.”
“Yes. Yes, that would be fine.”
He offered his brother an apologetic look. “Alan.”
Alan smiled in triumph. “Jack.”
Jack didn’t speak again until they were in the car and pulling out of the driveway. “It’s not my imagination, is it? He killed Dad.”
“Yes, Jack. He killed your father.” Nikki stared out the front windshield, her mouth set in a grim line. “Now we just have to find a way to prove it.”
* * *
“Here’s a thought…”
Nikki rolled over in bed and rested her head on Jack’s chest. When they’d first turned in, darkness held the room in a firm grip, but over the past hour, the moon peeked coyly above the horizon and cast its soft glow into the room, its silvery touch adding a brilliance to certain sections of the room while leaving the rest in mysterious shadow.
Five full days had gone by during which they’d endlessly examined various possibilities to explain Alan’s alibi, as well as how he’d gotten his hands on Jack’s car. They’d reluctantly concluded that Angela had lied to protect Alan. But they still couldn’t figure out how to explain his use of Jack’s car.
He ran a hand down Nikki’s back in an absentminded caress. Unfortunately, there was nothing absentminded about her reaction to the stroking touch. “My main concern is that since Alan’s my brother, it’ll strengthen your detective buddy’s suspicion that we’re in on the murder together.”
“But it would be downright stupid for you to give Alan your car while he’s off committing a murder. Not when he could have rented something nondescript that the police couldn’t connect to either of you. They might never have put his presence on that video together with the murder if Brooke hadn’t remembered his overall appearance so clearly. He couldn’t have anticipated that happening.”
“Wait. Rewind.”
“Where? What?”
“Alan could have rented something nondescript,” Jack repeated slowly.
Nikki nodded. “Exactly. The only reason he didn’t was in order to implicate you.”
“Right, right. But… What if he didn’t rent something nondescript? What if he rented a car identical to mine? What if he never took my car that night, just grabbed the license plates when he came to the office and stuck them on another car? What if it wasn’t my car in that video, but a rental with my tags?”
“Oh, Jack. Is that possible?” She thought about it, the idea so out of left field it took her a minute to construct a reasonable counterargument. “That’s a pretty distinctive car,” she said slowly. “Not to mention pricey. What do those things run, anyway?”
“A couple hundred and up.”
She stared, openmouthed. “Jack, that’s obscene.”
“Yes,” he said with ripe male satisfaction.
“Would a rental company even carry that particular model and color? I’m not sure I’d want to let one of those off the lot.”
He shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too difficult to find out. There are companies who rent exotic cars. I’m not sure how many, though, or whether this particular make and model would be one of—” He broke off and shot up in bed. “Son of a bitch. Why didn’t I think of this before?”
“What?” She sat up in alarm. “Think of what? What’s wrong?”
“My car. Some idiot backed into the rear driver door two days before Dad’s death. I forgot all about it.”
“No doubt because you had a few other matters on your mind,” she suggested gently.
He grimaced. “That’s entirely possible. Still… I had the car repaired the next week. But, if we’re lucky—and I mean very lucky—maybe that video will help prove that Aston Martin at the parking lot the night Dad was murdered isn’t my car. I guess it didn’t occur to me to ask Charles McDonough if the video showed the dent because I assumed it was my car.” He turned to her, urgency sweeping through him. “We need to call him first thing tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “Not tomorrow.” At his blank look, she released her breath in exasperation. “It’s your brother’s wedding, remember?”
“Matt’s not my brother,” he instantly replied. But she couldn’t help noticing it contained far less heat and conviction than in the past. His expression turned brooding and he settled back against the pillows. “Do you wake up Charles or should I?”
“I’ll do it.”
Nikki sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. A soft glow encompassed them, a circle of light holding the dense shadows at bay. She punched in the number, waiting for Charles McDonough’s gravely bark at being awakened so late. Instead, the call went to voice mail. She gave a swift sketch of their theory and asked that he call at his earliest convenience.
“He’s out of town until tomorrow afternoon,” she informed Jack.
Jack frowned. “I guess a short delay won’t hurt anything. I guarantee, Alan’s not going anywhere, not when he can live in the lap of luxury at Mom’s. Or rather, freeload in the lap of luxury. We’ll go see Charles immediately after the wedding. With luck, he’ll tie up his murder investigation before the annual shareholders’ meeting.”
Nikki froze. Praying Jack didn’t pick up on her tension, she said, “That’s the end of next week, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He glanced at her, his blue eyes narrowing. “Have you tracked down our secretive stock owner, yet?”
She so did not want to take their conversation in this new direction. “I’ll have the information before the meeting,” she promised evasively.
“There aren’t many days left. Just another week. And I’ll need to have enough time to get them on my side.” He sat up, frustration carved into his expression. “Unfortunately, I’m not certain whether I can pull that off. I mean, how am I supposed to convince someone that I’m the best choice to lead TKG when I’m under suspicion for murder? When my own brother is most likely responsible?”
“The Kincaids aren’t going to blame you for Alan’s actions. I’m sure this stockholder won’t, either.”
“No?” Jack ripped aside the bedcovers and paced across the room. Moonlight played over his magnificent physique, giving delicious definition to the endless ripple of muscles, painting them in streaks of silver and shadow. No question about it. Nudity became him. “I’m not so sure I’d be as
accepting of the Kincaids’ role in Dad’s death if our situation were reversed.”
“But none of you are to blame. There’s no reason you can’t reconcile with—”
“Don’t.”
That single word, spoken with such acute pain and explicitness, caused her to fall silent. Without a word, she left the bed and approached. “I’m just trying to help.”
“We’ve already settled this issue, Nikki. Don’t help me. Not with the Kincaids. I don’t want you interfering.”
His words cut sharp and deep. In desperate need of fresh air, she opened the doors leading onto the deck and stepped outside, not caring that she didn’t have a stitch on. She crossed to the railing and rested her hands on it, staring out at the ocean. The moon had escaped its watery bed, radiant in its fullness and shedding its light across the untamed landscape. Marsh grasses tilted beneath a gentle breeze, while wild sea oats stood sentry duty along the dunes, intent on their job of stabilizing the sand against the capricious winds that so often battered the coastline. Their laden heads bobbed against each other and she could just make out their dry, raspy whispers.
The landscape at night appeared so different from during the daytime, the sweet radiance of silver light softening sand, dunes and ocean. Nikki wanted to absorb the beauty before her, tuck it away somewhere safe to be taken out when her time with Jack was over. Tears pricked her eyes. They were down to mere days now. Seven. Seven days before she’d be forced to confess her role in The Kincaid Group’s future. Seven days before he turned from her. Despised her. Cut himself off from her. She didn’t know how she’d handle that moment when it came.
She sensed his presence a second before his hand cupped her shoulder. “You were made for moonlight,” he told her, unwittingly echoing her earlier thoughts about him. “Almost as much as you were made for nudity. Every time I see you like this I think of the goddess Diana.”
“The huntress. Goddess of the moon. Goddess of childbirth.” Nikki released a heartbreaking laugh. “She was committed to remaining a maiden, unlike me.”
Jack’s soft laugh rumbled against her back. “Thank God you weren’t.”
Her mouth twitched and she leaned against him. “She must not have met anyone like you or she wouldn’t have remained a maiden for long.”
Gently, inexorably, he turned her to face him. “Nikki, I know you want me to form a close relationship with my Kincaid relatives. But you need to know that’s not going to happen. Ever.”
“I do know.”
He shook his head. “But you keep hoping.”
She turned her back to the ocean and searched his face, his expression fully exposed by the moonlight, while hers remained in shadow. “Is that so wrong?”
“Not wrong. Pointless. Especially if—when—our relationship changes.”
She froze, the breath stuttering in her lungs. Did he know? Had he guessed? “Changes?”
He must have caught some hint of her agitation because he smiled. Taking her left hand in his, he slipped a ring on her finger. Endless seconds ticked by before her brain absorbed what he’d done. He tilted her hand so it caught the moonlight, reflecting off a circle of glittering diamonds that surrounded a huge sapphire.
“Marry me, Nikki.”
Her brain closed down. So did her capacity for speech. He must have taken her muteness for consent because he pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. There beneath a benevolent moon, he kissed her with a passion that didn’t allow room for thought. Unable to resist, she encircled his neck with her arms and gave herself up to rapture.
She barely felt her feet leave the deck, barely registered their transition from outdoors to in. Even when the softness of his mattress rose up to support her, she could only sigh against his mouth, opening to him more completely than she ever had before. How long had she loved him? How long had she hoped that a miracle would happen and he would fall in love with her, too? For reasons she couldn’t quite summon to mind, the possibility of an engagement, of marriage, of creating a home with Jack and bearing his children had seemed an impossible dream. But in this moment out of time, she allowed herself to dream, to be swept off to a place where fantasies became reality. In the far distance darkness stole across the glorious horizon, a darkness she turned from.
Later. Later she’d deal with the darkness. But for now, she’d step into the light and grab hold of the gift that had fallen so delightfully and unexpectedly into her hands.
Threading her fingers through Jack’s hair, Nikki pulled him downward so he fell into her mouth and onto her body. Oh, God, could anything be more delicious than that delectable joining of lips, of the abrasive, unmistakably male hardness moving against her softer, more giving curves? She opened to him, his tongue tangling with hers while his hands shaped her breasts and teased her nipples with quick, urgent little tugs.
He eased back from the kiss, drifted downward to replace his hands with his mouth. “You have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen.”
A strangled laugh escaped her. “I never know how to respond when you say something like that. Am I supposed to thank you? Say nothing? Deny it?”
“You can’t deny the truth.” He shifted lower, nipping at the flat planes of her belly. “And then there’s your skin. Like cream. Not quite white, not tanned or leathery like some women who spend too much time in the sun.”
She choked on a another laugh. “Heaven forbid.”
“But a lovely, rich cream. And tasty.” He inched lower. “I want another taste.”
He slid his hands beneath her thighs and parted her. Then he did just as he’d promised and tasted. “Jack!” His name escaped in a breathless shriek.
She wanted to tell him to stop, that it was too intimate. But the gentle, insistent probing of his tongue and mouth drove every thought from her head and she could only feel. Feel that delicious roughness of whiskers and tongue, feel the hot tension build, feel the heat and desperate need pooling between her thighs. And then he found the small bud that was the source of all that need and tension. Found it. Caught it between his teeth. And tugged.
Nikki instantly splintered, coming apart in his hands. She arched upward, her fingers fisting in the sheets while her muscles drew bowstring taut. Air squeezed from her lungs and she shuddered as her climax slammed through her. It held her in its grip, refusing to let go, pulsating through her in an endless wave. Her nerve endings jittered to a dance unlike anything she’d ever experienced before and she felt like a swimmer who’d gone under for the count, her vision darkening while she struggled to breathe where no air existed.
She managed one long inhalation before Jack levered upward and in one swift thrust mated their bodies. Her body instantly tightened, started the swift build all over again. She wrapped him up in arms and legs and clung with all her might. She picked up the rhythm he set, meeting him thrust for thrust, desperately reaching for that pinnacle once again.
Jack’s breathing deepened, quickened. So did their movements. Perspiration turned their bodies slick with need and heat, intensifying the abrasive slide of skin against skin. She heard him chanting “moremoremoremore” and found herself giving him more, as much as she had to give. She’d never been so open, so free, so desperate to meet demand with demand. And still they climbed and still the desire built until there was no place else for it to go. He surged inward a final time at the same moment she rose to meet him. They froze, held there like a pair of living statues captured at the perfect moment of climax, teetering on the brink of release. And then the tidal wave struck, washing over and through them, tumbling them onto the bed in a confusing heap of tangled limbs and pounding hearts and breath exploding in helpless gasps.
Jack groaned against her ear, the unexpected blast of heat causing her to shudder. She’d never been so hypersensitive before, not to the extent that even something as simple as his breath against her skin felt like the most delicious form of torture.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded. “I’ve never…
”
“Never?”
“Not ever. You?”
“Not even close. Not within a million miles of what just happened.”
He flopped onto his back. “I should have proposed sooner.”
His words caused her to stiffen. All of a sudden the darkness invading her fantasy world crept closer. Much, much closer. “Jack…”
“Right here.” The words were slurred and he rolled toward her and dropped a possessive arm across her waist. “I think you killed me.”
“Jack, we need to talk.”
In response he gave a soft snore. One glance warned he’d gone out like a light. The blanket of sleep must have been as king-size as the bed because she could feel it settling around her, too. She lifted her hand to look at the engagement ring. Over the past hour it had gained substantial weight since for some reason she could barely lift her arm. She stared at it, the promise it stood for mocking her with its brilliant flashes of diamond, silver and sapphire-blue.
She had no right to this ring. No right to wear it when she knew their marriage would never take place. Tears filled her eyes. She should have told him. She should have told him from the start that she owned those shares. And when he asked her to throw her shares in with his? Their affair would have ended because she’d have told him she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
Her hand dropped to her side and her eyes fluttered closed. At least she had the past three months, something she wouldn’t have experienced if she’d told him. And she had the rest of the night before she’d be forced to return the ring. The rest of the night to dwell within her fantasy world where Jack loved her and they were engaged. Where marriage hovered on the horizon instead of dark threat. Where the soft shades of their future children gamboled across the sweep of grass that surrounded his Greenville plantation. Where happiness dwelled, the only place it could dwell since it wouldn’t survive outside of her fantasy.
Sleep claimed her. But just beforehand came the unsettling realization that not once in all the time she’d known Jack had he ever said he loved her. Thought almost woke her. The tear that escaped almost had her resurfacing.