She matched his rhythm, his movements, writhing, her skin going slick and hot against his. He opened her thighs even wider and she raised her knees, allowing him to go even deeper. Suddenly Mia froze as every muscle in her body went rigid as iron. Then, with a sharp gasp, she shattered around him, wave upon powerful wave shuddering through her. Tears of sweet release streamed down her cheeks.
Mia held him tightly against her, her fingers digging into his firm buttocks, not wanting to let go as small aftershocks continued to tremble through her. She felt weightless, free. She could do anything. And the thought brought a fresh surge of emotion to her eyes.
Jagger felt her tears wet against his cheek and he pushed himself up, worried. But she smiled at him through the emotion streaming down her face, and his heart clenched.
“Mia...”
She shook her head, her eyes telling him it was beautiful as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down against her breasts. The tenderness Jagger felt in her arms, the soft weightlessness, the enveloping sensation of her care, was so exquisite, so painful, he thought he might burst. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this. He’d needed to talk to her first. He’d tried to pull back, not once, but twice. He should pull away now.
But she began to move her hips under his, a soft circular motion, and it cracked any vestige of control. Fire shot through his groin and seized hold of his brain. He thrust into her, moving harder, faster, friction increasing his temperature to a searing heat, his breathing going ragged, his vision blind as he dug down deep, trying to reach something he couldn’t articulate, didn’t understand, drowning all his darkness and guilt and shame in the deep pure sweetness of her arms.
And he came inside her, an explosive release that blew the terrible memories into thousands of glittering shards that tinkled away into some hidden part of his brain.
His world spun as she gathered him tightly against herself, just holding him there, inside her. He could taste her tears on his lips. Or were those his? And in this moment, Jagger knew he’d be able to love this woman. Wholly. Forever. In a way he’d never been able to love before.
He’d finally found his way back, he’d seen which road he wanted to take into the future, however hazy it might look right now, however challenging and littered with obstacles it might become. Jagger wanted to go down that road, with her hand in his. But now he stood to lose it all. He was standing on the crumbling edge of an abyss.
He rolled onto his side. It was almost dark outside now, the sound of rain ticking softly at the undraped window. Her skin looked alabaster in the haunting light, her hair a tangled halo of pale gold on his pillow. Jagger trailed his finger along her collarbone, over the swell of her breast, her nipple. He felt it contract under his touch and his eyes met hers in the faint light.
“You’re beautiful, Mia,” he whispered. “In every possible way.”
Her eyes glittered and she said nothing.
“You’re sad?”
She shook her head. “Just...overwhelmed.” She smiled at him, and he watched as the light of her smile reached her eyes. His chest squeezed with emotion—with love, affection, a powerful desire to protect, cherish. He’d kill for this woman. He knew that now. He wished he could use the sudden feeling of physical power and energy to crush this other thing he had to deal with now, force it away. It was a sword of Damocles hanging over their heads.
But all he could do now was tell her.
Whatever shape things took from here was not in his control.
Jagger glanced at the bedside clock. They had a little more time, he told himself. It was a still a long, long way from morning—the night could yet be theirs. He trailed his finger lower, down her waist, her hips. She gave a quivering sigh. He grinned, desire stirring in him again.
She rolled onto her side, hooking her leg over him. Her hand moved to the scar down the inside of his thigh. His erection began to swell.
“I wish you could tell me how you got this scar,” she whispered. “It’s like a roadmap, something from your past written right onto your body, yet the piece is missing from your mind. Do you not remember at all?”
Jagger inhaled deeply. She was pushing him into a corner with her questions, because he couldn’t lie to her now. He kept silent instead.
She studied him for a while, her gaze probing, dissecting in the gloom. “Do you remember anything more about what happened in that field?” she said.
Jagger cleared his throat. “Mia, I need to tell you something.”
Worry entered her eyes.
He sat up, reached for his jeans, desperate for some distraction, a way to avoid what he knew was coming down the pipe.
“What is it?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbow, an edginess entering her voice.
“Mia, you know how—”
He froze as a terrifying scream cut the air.
Mia bolted upright, eyes wide.
“What was that?” she whispered.
Another scream came through the walls of the mansion, the words unidentifiable, the sound bloodcurdling.
“Sounded like a man!” Jagger said as he raced out into the living room and flung open the suite door. Mia lurched out of bed and scrambled for a robe in the bathroom. She came up to his side, belting the robe.
This time they heard someone call, “Help!”
‘It’s from down the passage!” Already in his jeans, Jagger grabbed his Glock from the counter and sprinted down the passage toward the source of the sound.
At the end of the hall he saw a figure—a man, all in black with a black ski mask. He was clutching a bundle against his chest and he froze when he saw Jagger. The man raised a gun with his free arm and fired.
Jagger flung himself behind the wall as a bullet buzzed like a hot hornet past his cheek.
“Mia,” he yelled. “Stay back!”
He ducked out from behind the wall and gave chase. The man had reached the top of the stairs and was starting down, boots clattering against wood.
Jagger braced on banister and hurdled over it, swinging his legs wide and bringing his shins across the man’s face.
The man was flung backward onto the stairs. With horror, Jagger saw what fell from his arms. He heard the cries at same time he saw the tightly swaddled bundle roll down one stair, then another. Jagger lunged, dropping his weapon as he caught hold of Cheyenne with both hands. He heard his gun clattering down the steps and falling onto the landing below. Clutching the baby close to his bare chest, balanced with one knee on the step and one foot farther down, Jagger glanced up. The man had his gun pointed at Jagger.
He was defenseless, could not drop the baby.
“Don’t. Move.” The female voice came from above.
The man’s gaze flared upward to the banister. Mia stood in her white bathrobe, her new Smith & Wesson aimed directly at the man’s head.
“Move one muscle and I’ll shoot your goddamn face off,” she growled. Her hands were steady, her eyes clear—she was focused with such an intense yet controlled fury, Jagger hardly recognized her.
“Now, drop that weapon and put your hands up above your head where I can see them.”
Jagger swallowed, moving slowly backward and down a step, his priority the baby.
He reached the second landing. He’d seen a phone earlier, down the hall. He backed slowly around the corner. Then he sprinted down the hall to where a statue was set on pedestal in a slight alcove. Carefully he laid Cheyenne behind the statue. Then he went for the phone, hit 911. Leaving the receiver off the hook and the baby crying, he tore back down the passage to retrieve his gun and go help Mia.
But as Jagger neared the second landing, he heard a shot.
Grabbing his gun from the floor, he dashed around the corner in time to see the man fleeing. Mia fired after him, but the man ducked around into the p
assage.
“Leave him!” he ordered. She froze at the sound of his voice.
“Don’t go after him, Mia,” he yelled as he ran up the stairs. “You’re not trained for this. Go get Cheyenne.” The baby’s crying could be heard loudly now, coming from downstairs.
Jagger dashed down the darkened passageway into the next wing of the house. He rounded another corner just in time to see man disappearing out a broken window at end of the hall.
Dashing to the window, he looked down. A portable fire-escape ladder swung against the outside of the house as a figure ran across the lawn and disappeared into the darkness of shadows. Jagger fired. But the man was gone.
Jagger swung round and raced back to where they’d heard the screams coming from.
He burst into Cheyenne’s nursery. Mia was already there, Cheyenne crying in her crib as Mia knelt in front of Cheyenne’s guard sitting on the floor, blood pouring from a cut on his face.
“He got away,” Jagger said, sheathing his gun in the waistband of his jeans. “What happened here?”
“The attacker...he came out of the blue, surprised me with a blow to the head,” the guard said, clearly distressed. “I didn’t see him coming at all. Got me from behind, knocked me out cold for a second. Then I came round in time to see him taking Miss Cheyenne. I went for him and he sliced me with a knife. I should have seen it... I should have heard him coming. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay, Tom,” Mia said as she pressed a wadded baby blanket against the cut on the man’s face. “Hold that tightly against the wound,” she said. “And we’ll get you down the infirmary where I can stitch it up. Where’s Miss Amanda?”
“She’s with her father. So is Dr. Colton. After the oncologist left, Mr. Colton went into medical distress and he lapsed back into a coma.”
Mia’s gaze flicked up to Jagger.
“Call Amanda from that phone on the wall over there,” she said. “Just press the extension for Jethro’s suite.”
Mia helped the guard get to his feet while Jagger dialed Amanda and told her what had happened.
“Are you steady enough to walk to elevator, Tom?” Mia asked.
He braced his free hand on the crib and looked inside, desperate to see for himself that Cheyenne was okay, in spite of her screaming protests. His eyes were pained. “I should have seen him, heard him. Stopped him.”
“Shh,” Mia said. “It’s going to be okay. The baby is fine. Let’s get you and Cheyenne down to the infirmary where I can get a good look at you both just to be sure.”
Amanda appeared in the doorway, breathless and white-faced. “Oh, my God, Cheyenne.” She rushed forward, gathering her baby up into her arms. “What happened!”
“Someone tried to kidnap Cheyenne,” Jagger said. “He got away.”
“I didn’t see him, Miss Amanda,” Tom said, pressing the bloodied blanket against his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“Where’s Trevor Garth?” Jagger said.
“He’s still in Laramie,” Amanda answered, rocking her baby against her chest, her eyes gleaming with emotion. “Oh, God, the kidnapper must have known they’d all be away. Levi has been trying to reach them, bring them back,” Amanda said, her voice catching. “My father went into distress right after the oncologist left. He...he’s unconscious, in a coma.” She seemed overwhelmed. “We...we should call the police, too.”
“I already dialed 911,” Jagger said. “I’ll follow up with a direct call to the police station. But they should already be on their way. What else can I do to help?”
“You could help by taking Tom to the elevator and down to the infirmary,” Mia said, taking charge. Jagger went over and took Tom’s arm.
Mia turned to Amanda. “Go be with your father, Amanda,” Mia said gently. “I’ll take Cheyenne down to the infirmary, check her out and then bring her right up you.”
Amanda hesitated, tears suddenly spilling. She was a strong woman, Jagger could tell, but she was broken right now. He felt a pang in his heart.
“Come, this way,” he said to Tom. “Tell me exactly how it went down, what did you see?”
* * *
Jagger watched in quiet admiration as Mia calmly contacted Levi on the infirmary intercom and told him to stay with his father. She could handle Tom Brooks and baby Cheyenne.
Jagger sat in the wingback chair under the window cuddling five-month-old Cheyenne against his bare chest. Mia had examined the child and reswaddled her in a soft blanket patterned with little yellow bears and fluffy clouds. The redheaded maid from the kitchen had warmed a bottle of formula and brought it to the infirmary at Mia’s request.
“Feed her, please,” Mia told Jagger in a cool, collected tone. She’d gone into efficiency mode. Bemused, Jagger took the bottle and seated himself in the wingback while Mia got to work suturing the cut on Tom’s face. The old guard had suffered no broken bones, but his pride had taken a devastating blow.
Jagger realized suddenly that the baby’s eyes were watching his face intently as she sucked at her bottle.
He glanced down and met the adoring little gaze. His heart did a funny little tumble in his chest.
“You managing okay?” Mia said, throwing him a glance as she worked.
“Uh, yeah, I think so—I mean, how hard can this be?”
She smiled. “Hard enough. Sometimes. Are you warm—you need a shirt?”
“I’m fine, Nurse,” he said with a grin. “This little kiddo is like a hot water bottle.”
But Mia had already returned her attention to suturing.
“Hey there, sweetness,” Jagger whispered, looking down into the baby’s face. Cheyenne stopped sucking for a moment and stared at him, listening to his voice.
“You not hungry?” He nuzzled the teat against her little rosebud lips and she gave what he could swear was a smile and a giggle before she latched firmly back on to to the nipple and resumed sucking, her gaze locked onto his. Something cracked inside him, spilling an indescribable warmth through his body, swelling emotion into his eyes.
Was this what it was like? To be responsible for a little human who was otherwise so helpless, so dependent? That feeling of protectiveness, the same fierce feeling of fire that had filled him after making love to Mia, after gently holding her naked and warm in his arms, came over him now, ten-fold.
He watched the milk in the bottle going down and he was almost afraid to look up lest Mia or Tom see the sappy emotion he was certain was written all over his face. When he did dare to glance up, Mia was watching him, and she looked quickly away.
No matter how you sliced it, thought Jagger, this precious little baby that they’d saved from a masked monster was a bright and shining light in the middle of all the darkness this family had been experiencing—and still was. She was a metaphor for life, the very essence of they all needed to protect. New life.
Mia’s words sifted into his mind....
I loved him. I thought Brad, my fiancé, loved me back. I believed him when he said he wanted to build a life with me, have children with me....
Suddenly Jagger wanted this Colton thing to be over, and fast. He’d already made his choice when he’d decided to come clean with Mia. He was going to break his contract with the television station and the publisher. He’d buy it all back, no matter how much it cost him. Because he’d chosen Mia. He was ready to gamble with the faint possibility of true love. A wife. A family. And, yes, he wanted children. Jagger wanted to give Mia all those things her ex had denied her.
The idea—the desire—was suddenly so fierce in his mind that it had physical power. Jagger had never ever dreamed he’d come to this. But his past, his brutal experiences with life, with death, and his struggle back from brain damage, had altered him. Or perhaps Mia had. Or maybe he’d just finally matured enough to come to terms with something way back in h
is childhood.
The image of that tumbleweed sifted into his mind, the crossroads he’d stood at after the diner. Jagger wasn’t sure about Destiny, but this felt an awful lot like the hand of some greater guiding power in his life. He’d been brought into her life for a reason. Now he had to find a way to tell her the truth.
She was helping Tom off the bed. “You’ll be fine,” she said. “But you must get some rest. Mr. Garth will be back any minute and he’ll take security matters over from there.”
She opened the door. “And don’t even think about going up there,” she said mock-stern. “Nurse’s orders. I’ll get Liz in the kitchen to bring you some tea.”
Mia closed the door and stilled for a moment, her back to Jagger. And he thought he saw her shoulders sag slightly, as if releasing the pressure of holding everything together with utter calm. Jagger thought of the way she’d handled that gun, cool and commanding as she’d stared into that kidnapper’s eyes, not flinching for an instant.
“I can see why you must have been good in E.R.,” he said quietly.
She turned to face him, gathering her bathrobe tighter over her chest, and resecuring the belt. Her complexion was pale and she looked tired, but right now she was more beautiful to him than ever. Her eyes met his, then lowered slowly to the baby against his bare, tattooed chest.
“Looks surprisingly good on you,” she said quietly. Jagger heard the wail of police sirens in the distance, coming closer. The cops were finally on their way.
She came up to him, holding her arms out for Cheyenne. “Thank you. I’ll take her up to her mom now. If you could meet with the cops when they arrive—show them nursery, and take them to see Tom Brooks if they ask?”
“Where will I find Tom?” he asked, placing the little cherub into Mia’s arms.
“Employee wing, men’s floor. Someone there will be able to point out his room.” She hesitated, baby against her chest, then she bent down and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
The Missing Colton Page 21