by Judy Teel
She hadn't wanted to face the truth of it, but she had to for her own sanity. Once he had what he wanted, their time together was over.
Trey had no interest in living a quiet life in a slow-paced community like Harts Creek. He had his career and when he found his sister, a relationship to build with her.
Once she severed ties with her father for good, she had her business to run and a town of friends she cared about. She could never stay willingly in her father's world, not even for Trey.
They had only one more night together.
She wasn't going to waste it.
* * *
Trey closed the door of Dakota's apartment and reached out, enclosing her hand in his. She'd been quiet since they'd gotten back, her eyes touched with a deep sadness that unsettled him.
The muffled ache in his chest was back and it felt a lot like what he saw in her eyes. Plus a heavy dose of guilt.
Would Dakota's father find a way to keep her in New York like she feared? Even though he tried to soothe her, Trey knew that was a very real risk she was taking.
Stopping her would be so easy. Just tell her their bargain was off. Stay, enjoy your life. I'll find another way.
Only there was no other way. He wanted to find his sister more than he wanted Dakota to be happy.
He was a pig, just like she'd said that first day he'd walked into her restaurant.
He didn't deserve her, and yet he wanted her as if he did--as if he were the kind of man who could keep and love a woman like Dakota forever.
Quietly he led her toward the bedroom, his heart full of regrets for what might have been. He turned and traced her beautiful face with the tips of his fingers.
For tonight, at least, he vowed to be the man he should have been.
* * *
Dakota's breath caught as Trey slid his hand over her neck to the first button of her shirt. Slowly and deliberately, he moved down the row until the garment hung open.
His palm swept across her waist and her muscles quivered, sending a chill skating up her spine. He continued up over her ribs to cup her breast almost reverently, and then he brushed his mouth across hers. He kissed her gently, as if he feared she might break.
A flood of desire rose up from her center, spreading through her belly. She groaned as he worked the clasp of her bra, her body tightening with impatience. Leaning into his kiss, she opened her mouth to him.
His tongue traced the inside of her bottom lip as the weight of his palm caressed her bare breast, sending streamers of sweet fever coursing through her blood.
Hungry to touch him, knowing the luxury of his lovemaking would never be hers again, Dakota eagerly pushed her hands under his T-shirt. As she stroked her fingers up over his body, she willed herself to always remember the smoothness of his skin over ridged muscles, the light dusting of hair across the flat surface of his chest, the sharp nubs of his nipples.
Tugging off his shirt, she moved her gaze along the course her hands had taken, determined to keep the memory of tonight with her always to comfort her in the empty days ahead. Trey pushed her shirt and bra off her shoulders and nuzzled her neck as he pivoted her toward the bed. Laying her back on the covers, he closed his mouth over the tip of her breast.
A burst of need arced through her, incinerating all thoughts, all regrets, leaving only her desperate craving to have Trey inside her. Fumbling with the snap of his jeans while he suckled her breast, she nearly cried with frustration.
He swiped his tongue across her swollen nipple and stood up, quickly stripping off the rest of his clothes, and then retrieving one of the foil packets from the bedside table. He turned back to her, his eyes blazing with hunger, and pressed his palm to the juncture of her thighs.
She gasped, as the heat of his touch penetrated her jeans and spread across the center of her building passion. He slowly unzipped her pants, easing them over her hips, his gaze never leaving hers.
A lump knotted in her throat as his mouth came down on the curve of her belly, nibbling, licking, his tongue circling her naval. She threw her head back as the fervor built inside her and opened her legs to him.
His strong, gentle fingers parted her folds and she sighed as his tongue stroked across her in one sure movement. He suckled her there as he had her breasts, and as she climbed toward her release, tears pooled in her eyes.
A moment later, he pushed to his feet, the scorching desire in his gaze shadowed with remorse.
"It has to be this way," she said, framing his face in her hands as he lowered himself over her.
Trey pressed his cheek against hers, his breath warm where it touched her ear. "I know."
His eyelashes brushed her skin and a single, hot tear splashed onto her neck as he entered her slowly. He pulled out and slid into her again and again in a tender reflection of their past lovemaking. The aching pressure in her womb built higher and higher, a painful joy that she welcomed.
"I'll never forget you," he whispered as she tightened around him.
"Trey," she sobbed.
In one, swift movement, he sank fully into her.
Pleasure and sorrow rocked through her soul and she shattered into a million pieces.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Dakota woke up the next morning, Trey was gone.
She wasn't surprised, but as she brushed her hand across the cold sheets next to her, she couldn't stop the powerless sorrow that sank into her heart.
Hamlet barked from the other room reminding her that she would have to save her self pity for later. She had responsibilities, not just to the dog, but to her town, herself, and especially to Trey.
Rallying herself, she pushed aside her grief. Now was not the time to wallow in self pity. When the press arrived, they expected to see the Jamison heiress up to her elbows in creatively named soups and baked goods and it was up to her to give them exactly that.
Climbing out of bed, Dakota showered and dressed, and then took Hamlet out into the cold, dark morning to take care of his business. Once she was back in her apartment, she couldn't help feeling a little sorry for herself, despite her brave pep talk.
She was going to miss Trey and it was stupid of her to pretend she wasn't.
The morning seemed empty without him. Who was she going to tease about how much sugar he put in his coffee? Or ask about his plans for the day?
Wandering over to the coffee pot, she reached half-heartedly for the can of fresh grounds. A green post-it had been stuck to the top of the appliance.
She pulled it off and scanned the message, written in Trey's nearly illegible scrawl.
I left early to offer him something better, it read. Our bargain is off.
Dismay gripped her. What had he done?
Her vindictive father never compromised or re-negotiated. Trey was about to lose his last hope of ever finding Rosie.
If her mother were still alive and she had the chance to be with her again, nothing would stop her from making that happen. Family was important. Why would he throw that away?
Had her worries of what her father might do to her gotten to him? Did he feel guilty for holding her to a bargain that might mean the loss of everything she'd worked for?
Dakota frowned. If so, then Trey had picked a fine time to find his conscience. Grabbing the phone, she quickly dialed Chelsea.
Now she was going to have to rescue him.
* * *
"Right, so I picked up Hamlet and got Eileen and the twins lined up to cover orders and the register," Chelsea said as she slid the last pan of rolls into Dakota's industrial oven. "Reggie's promised to come in near closing and help them with cleanup and next-morning prep."
"Excellent. I got Richard's answering machine when I called him, so I left a message with your number on it."
"You think his boyfriend will come and help out with the cooking?"
Dakota shrugged. "I've known them a long time. They're good guys. I'm hoping he will." Pushing down on the dough she was kneading, she nodded toward the bulletin board on the wall
by the back door. "I left my recipes in case he does. Guard them with your life. There's going to be a lot of press here, today."
Chelsea took the recipes down and stuck them into her back pocket.
"Very secure, Chels."
"You have nothing to worry about. No one's been in my pants for a long time."
Despite her worries over Trey, Dakota suppressed a smile. "Not for lack of trying, I'm sure."
Ignoring her, Chelsea moved to the front of the kitchen and peered out the beaded curtain. "They're lining up outside the door, kiddo. Looks like it's show time."
Patting the dough into three even loaves, Dakota gently placed them on a floured tray and covered them so they could rise. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
"You sure he's worth it? He did give you an out."
"That's what makes him worth it."
Chelsea looked at her, her brows drawing down in speculation. "You're falling for him, aren't you?"
"Fallen. Hook, line and sinker." The words sprang out of her from someplace deep in her heart, and with a thrill of insight, Dakota knew they were true.
Her friend's eyes got wide. "Wow, you really mean it. In that case, go get him. We'll hold down the fort for as long as you need us to."
"If I don't come back in a week, send the cops."
* * *
The morning flew by and as the hours passed, Dakota began to hope that Trey had done the impossible and talked Dad into leaving her alone.
Just before noon, a ripple of excitement went through the crowd outside her café and she knew she was wrong. She looked up from the table she was wiping down. On the sidewalk, people craned their necks to get a better view of something happening farther down the street. Others ran excitedly from one point to another, or pulled children back from the curb to a safer distance.
Anxiety skated along her nerves just like it had the day after her mother's funeral.
They were here.
She carefully folded the clean rag she'd been using as three black limousines, their side windows tinted too dark to see through, cruised up to the curb. Even knowing exactly what was about to happen, her heart stuttered into a pounding rhythm as half a dozen men in dark suits and sunglasses got out.
The crowd parted and the men headed for her front door. Reporters pressed forward, flashes popping off like firecrackers.
At the table beside her, Mrs. Tilster glanced up, her brow furrowed. "Dakota, what's going on?"
The cheerful tingle of the bell echoed through the now silent restaurant. Her customers grew tense, their expressions turning suspicious as four of the grim-faced men strode in, leaving the other two in position outside the door. The tallest one, his temples touched with gray, approached her while the rest spread out through the small dining room.
"Are you ready, Miss Jamison?" he asked.
Dakota went behind the new counter Trey had built and retrieved the backpack she'd prepared that morning.
Mrs. Tilster's eyes widened. "Dakota, you are not considering going with these people!"
"I'll be fine," she said, heading toward the door. She hoped she was right.
The older woman stood up and blocked her way. "It doesn't look all right to me." She rounded on the tall security guard. "See here, young man, this is most irregular. You can't just waltz in to our town and take our Dakota willy nilly like this. Where are your papers? Your ID? This is nothing short of kidnapping!" She swept the room with her steely gaze. "We won't stand for it, will we?"
Men and women around the dining room, and even Mike, who was six and loved her chocolate chip muffins, stood up, their expressions darkening.
Mike glared at the security team. "You don't have to go wif them, Dakota."
The leader stood calmly, but the others shifted nervously, their hands hovering near the openings of their jackets.
Dakota touched Mrs. Tilster's plump arm, anxious to defuse the situation before someone got hurt. "It's all right. It's all right everyone," she said louder, addressing the other people in the room. "These men are from my father."
Mrs. Tilster surveyed the group with open speculation. "They look like FBI to me. You can't trust those FBI goons."
"We are not associated with the government in any way, ma'am," rumbled the man who seemed to be the only one cleared to talk. "Mr. Jamison would like to see his daughter as soon as possible, now that she's found. We're here to assure Miss Jamison's safety during her journey."
"Humph." She narrowed her eyes at him, but unlike most people he didn't back down or give any indication of being impressed whatsoever. Mrs. Tilster gave another huff of displeasure and turned back to Dakota.
"If you think you'll be all right..." she said, her voice touched with concern.
"I'm hoping to be back tomorrow." She gave the older woman a spontaneous hug.
Turning to the senior security guard, she lifted her chin defiantly. "Let's get this over with."
* * *
Pacing to the conference room door and back, Trey had to face facts. He was about to be fired. If he were lucky. His big revelation had come too late.
He'd awakened that morning knowing something had changed in him. For most of his life he'd kept his past buried, stripped himself of who he really was and lived like a chameleon--taking on whatever persona he needed to keep real life at arm's length.
As he watched Dakota sleeping, the curves and slopes of her beautiful face relaxed and peaceful, the wall he'd built cracked and he'd realized that he couldn't compartmentalize himself like that anymore. He itched to be free, to drop the shackles he'd imposed on himself.
But first, he had to make things right with Dakota. He had to find a way to keep her dreams safe without sacrificing his ambition to reunite his family.
After catching an early flight to New York, he'd spent the morning trying to find a way to give Jamison the net cash he seemed desperate to have. Without involving Dakota.
When Debbie had called his office to tell him Jamison wanted a meeting, Trey still hadn't fully pieced together a viable option. He had a good start, maybe enough to capture Jamison's interest and motivate him to drop the deal for Dakota Nights. Hopefully enough to encourage him to follow through with his promise to provide Rosie's records.
When the limo had pulled up to collect him, he was too busy running sale scenarios through his head to realize things weren't quite what they should be. Even when he climbed in and discovered two of Jamison's stone-faced security men sitting on the opposite seat, he'd dismissed the warning bells clamoring in his head.
Working out a few more numbers, he'd ignored the contained tension radiating off the other men. When the limo pulled up in front of Jamison's Long Island mansion, he was glad he'd soon be rid of them.
The taste of relief dissolved when his traveling companions escorted him to one of the smaller conference rooms in the lowest level of the mansion, taken his cell phone, locked him in, and left him to wait.
The buzz and click of the electronic lock disengaging broke Trey from the frustrating loop of his thoughts. He sprang to the far wall, putting the table and as much space as he could between himself and whatever was coming.
The guards stepped in, flanking either side of the door like stone lions. A moment later, Jamison marched into the room.
Trey gritted his teeth and casually lowered himself into a chair, using all his skills to appear calm and unconcerned.
"You've failed me, Peters," Jamison said, his rough voice grating along Trey's nerves like sand paper.
Jamison gave a quick nod of his head and a guard stepped forward to pull a chair away from the table for him. He settled into it, his penetrating gaze locked onto Trey.
Trey lounged back, idly tracing random patterns on the table with his forefinger.
When he didn't start babbling into the tense silence, Jamison folded his hands on top of the conference table and gave him a cold smile. "I expected Dakota to be returned to me by now. Satisfied, compliant, and willing to do anything the man she lov
ed wanted her to do."
A snap of outrage hit him followed by an icy wave of repulsion. He couldn't believe he had been so blind that he'd once admired this man and what he represented. Dakota had known and he'd been too arrogant to listen to her.
His only hope was that she was furious with him and had stayed in Harts Creek.
"Apparently, your reputation was more rumor than fact," Jamison continued, anger flashing across his eyes.
"Apparently," Trey said with a flat sarcasm. Was there more to Jamison's plans than just needing her to negotiate with a recalcitrant client?
"She's much like her mother you know; compassionate, impulsive, and infinitely blind to the faults of those she cares about. Her weaknesses may yet carry the day."
He pushed back his chair and stood up. "Her plane lands in an hour. If my assessment is sound you may still be of some use to me."
Striding to the door, he glanced at the guards. "No permanent damage. Just something showy."
He left the room and the locks snapped into place. Trey slowly stood as the guards advanced, their expressions flat.
Please hate me, Dakota, he prayed.
The men sprang at him.
* * *
As Dakota entered her father's cavernous study and approached his desk, she had the disturbing impression that he hadn't moved the entire time she'd been gone--a spider sitting motionless, knowing that sooner or later the fat flies he'd tempted his way would land and hopelessly entangle themselves while he sucked them dry.
His cold gray eyes glittered with triumph and the image evaporated. "Welcome back, Dakota."
She held his hard stare, refusing to look away. "I don't plan to stay, so don't get your hopes up."
"I never hope. I don't need to. I know."
Her gut constricted with anger. "Not as much as you think."
"For example, I know I have something you want."
"I don't want anything of yours. I never have." She glared at him, making no effort to hide her loathing.
"But this is something special."
Dread pushed up into her throat as her father touched a button on the small console inlaid in his desk. A door on her left opened and to her dismay, two security guards dragged Trey into the room.