Taken Beyond Temptation

by Cara Summers

  She shifted her gaze away. “I know it’s not very scientific. But I’m just thinking that if we went up there when we get back to the hotel, we could see— If I could get some sense of— She might be able to—” She stopped and met his eyes directly. “You must think I’m nuts. You’re ex-CIA and I’m talking about doing some kind of mental communication with a ghost.”

  Ian met her gaze. “Actually, I’m not thinking about that at all. My brain cells started clicking off about half an hour ago when I started planning what I want to do with you tonight. I’m a very good planner, Jillian. That’s what I do. And I’m good at details. I’d even gotten to choosing the perfect bottle of champagne.”

  Her breath hitched just once. “I thought we agreed to put that—us—on the back burner.”

  “We talked about it. But now that we’ve discussed what we’ve found and what our next step will be, I’m moving us back to the front burner.”

  He rose, walked around the table and pulled her to her feet. “I was going to have candles, too.” He paused to draw the ribbon out of her hair. Then, leaning down, he took her mouth, a brief brushing of his lips to hers. “A romantic dinner. My place this time.”

  “Your place…” Her words trailed off as he sampled first one corner of her mouth and then the other.

  “Seems only fair.” He angled his head to nibble the line of her jaw.

  If she hadn’t quivered, or if her scent hadn’t gone suddenly from fresh to exotic, he might have drawn back. Maybe—if someone had burst through the door at the top of the stairs.

  He tasted her again and whispered against her mouth. “I can’t wait for tonight, Jillian. I want you too much.”

  “But we can’t….” Framing his face with her hands, she punctuated her words with quick kisses. “Not here.”

  “You’re right.” Head spinning, he gripped her hips and carried her out of the glaring light of the overhead bulb. At the end of the aisle, he turned left and strode to the far corner of the basement before he set her down. “This is much better.”

  13

  JILLIAN FELT THE COOLNESS of stone behind her back, the heat of Ian’s body pressing her into it, hard and rough and male. A little voice in the back of her mind made a protest—one of them should be sensible. Drawing in a breath, she gave it a try. “Ian, this is crazy.”

  He met her eyes. “That’s the first time you’ve used my name.”

  Something in his gaze had the voice fading.

  “As far as crazy goes, I won’t give you an argument.” He took her wrists and drew her hands down to her sides.

  For one instant, disappointment rippled through her at the thought that sensible Jillian had convinced him.

  Then he loosened the knot in her blouse. “I’m going to plead insanity.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Not with her blood thickening and a shudder racing all the way to her toes.

  “I’ve been thinking about doing this all day.” He began to struggle with the buttons, and each time his fingers brushed against her skin, her body absorbed a new shock of pleasure. A rip of silk and the ping of a button hitting the floor set her heart beating in a primitive rhythm, and need clawed through her.

  He drew her blouse open, and she knew the instant his eyes fastened on her breasts. Her nipples went rigid, and she had to press her palms flat against the wall to keep from sliding to the floor.

  For an instant, time stood still. In the slant of light from the window overhead, even the dust motes froze in their dance. As her skin heated, Jillian knew that she’d never had a chance of being sensible as far as Ian MacFarland was concerned. She’d chosen the black lace bra and panties when she’d changed her clothes because she’d been preparing for this moment. Craving this moment.

  “It’s like opening a present,” he murmured. “I only wish I had time to unwrap the rest.” His gaze returned to hers. “And to touch you the way you deserve to be touched.”

  “Later,” she said.

  “Later,” he agreed.

  In the far distance, a chime sounded a warning that the library would be closing soon.

  As if it was a signal, they moved at the same time until they were mouth to mouth. At last, she thought. The waiting was over. Even then, when she thought her hunger for him couldn’t be any greater, it suddenly was. Her hands fisted in his hair to keep his mouth on hers as he shifted back and unfastened his pants. Above the thundering of her own heart, she heard the foil on the condom rip, and an erotic thrill shot through her.

  “Now,” she said against his mouth. “Right now.”

  Together they hitched up her skirt, and she scooted up to wrap her legs around him. Even as she wiggled to get closer to the hard length of him, his hands moved between her thighs to push her thong aside. The pressure of his fingers, right there stroking, testing, probing had her arching back and reaching for release. Sensations careened through her, sharp, jagged blasts of pleasure. But they weren’t enough. Not nearly.

  When she thought she would surely shatter, he braced her against the wall and dragged his mouth from hers. Then he pushed into her, just a little. She tried to arch against him, but his grip on her hips remained firm.

  “Look at me, Jillian.”

  She opened her eyes, met his, and saw nothing else. Knew nothing else.

  “Tell me you want me. Say my name.”

  “I want you, Ian.”

  He entered her in one savage thrust. Then fast, on the edge of violent, he drove into her again and again. If his mouth hadn’t found hers, she might have screamed when the climax gripped her and sent her flying.

  More, more, more. The words drummed through his blood, steamed through his brain. Even when her slick core tightened around him and dragged him ruthlessly toward his own release, the fear remained that it wasn’t enough. This outrageous need that she made him feel was never going to be satisfied.

  Then he shattered and the world dimmed around him.

  WHEN IAN COULD FINALLY draw in a breath without gasping, he realized he was kneeling on the stone floor and Jillian’s legs were still locked around him, still holding him inside her. And he quite simply didn’t want to move.

  With her head nestled on his shoulder, Jillian let out a shuddering sigh. “That was…I’m not sure I have a word for it.”

  “Neither do I. Amazing, stupendous, earth-shattering—all of them fall a little short.”

  “I told you I never do this kind of semipublic sex thing. Now I’ve done it twice. What in the world is wrong with me?”

  “From my point of view, absolutely nothing.” His laugh caused him to move inside her. When she shivered and clenched around him like a fist, he turned his head to capture her mouth as she rode the last of her climax out.

  His own blood heated, but before the urge to start thrusting into her again became irresistible, he gripped her hips and lifted her away. “In deference to our surroundings, I’m going to take a rain check on seconds.”

  “There may be hope for one of us.”

  Her dry tone had him grinning again. He gripped her chin and planted a quick kiss on her nose. “I like you, Jillian Brightman.”

  She met his eyes as she began to button her blouse. “I like you, too, in spite of the fact that you ripped a button off my blouse.” Moving to her knees, she began to pat the floor. “It has to be after five. I’m surprised Miss Emmy Lou hasn’t come down here to shoo us out.”

  Rising, Ian adjusted his clothes as Jillian stayed on her knees searching for the button. “Any luck?”

  “It has to be here somewhere. You’d better go and pack up the newspapers we were looking at.”

  He’d started back to their workspace when she said, “Look what I found.”

  He was about to turn around when he heard the sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs.

  Then came the explosion. The impact sent him slamming sideways into the wall. His ears hadn’t stopped ringing when he heard a sudden whoosh followed by the crackle and hiss of flames. He cou
ld picture them greedily eating the newspapers they’d left spread across the table and licking their way up the old boxes on the nearby shelves. “What happened?”

  Ian hooked an arm around Jillian when she reached him. “Fire bomb.” Tendrils of smoke were already curling out from the ends of the aisles and crawling up to the ceiling.

  “We have to get out.”

  “The stairs will be blocked.” He grabbed one of the banker’s boxes off a nearby shelf. “Help me pile these up under that window.”

  She asked no more questions—just grabbed a box and set it next to his. The ceiling was high and the window was about two feet beyond his reach, which meant it would be an even longer stretch for Jillian. But it was their only chance of escape.

  While they worked quickly in silence, the noise of the fire increased steadily from crackle to roar. And the smoke grew thicker. His eyes were burning by the time the boxes were one deep, three across and four high. Through a thick haze, he saw the flames had started toward them from two directions, and the heat was the temperature of a blast furnace. Their escape platform was very narrow, but it was going to have to serve.

  When Jillian bent over with coughing, he grabbed her wrist and drew her all the way down to the floor where there was still some oxygen. “Breathe,” he ordered. “Fill your lungs.”

  Once they both had, he pulled her up again. After wiping sweat from his eyes, he boosted her to the top of the boxes and climbed up after her.

  He had no breath to waste on words, so he pressed a hand to her shoulder, praying that she’d read it as a signal to move to the next box and stay on her knees.

  When she did, he kept his hands flat on the wall for support as he stood up. The box beneath his feet teetered and began to slide. Struggling for balance, he planted one foot on the box Jillian was kneeling on.

  She gripped his leg and held on until he managed to shift his other foot onto the box. Below him, he heard the flames start in on the fallen box.

  Close. The fire was too close now. The other boxes they were standing on could become their funeral pyre at any minute.

  Above the roar of the flames, he heard the sirens. But the firemen would be too late. And there’d be no second chance.

  When Jillian began to cough again, he squatted low enough to hook an arm around her, then carefully drew her up with him. This time when the box started to teeter, he gripped her close and willed himself not to fall.

  Once he was steady again, his vision was so blurred he had to grope like a blind man for the latch. Closing his fingers around it, he said another prayer and pulled. It held.

  Fighting down panic and the urge to claw it free, he pulled again.

  This time it began to give. On the third try, it opened. He drew fresh air into burning lungs, and heard the fire gather new strength behind him. He grabbed Jillian by the waist, hoisted her up and began to shove her through the narrow opening.

  “I’ve got her,” a voice shouted.

  By the time he levered himself up, he could hear more voices. He felt hands grip one of his wrists. Jillian’s. He knew her touch.

  “I’ve got him now.”

  This time Ian recognized Nate’s voice as stronger hands gripped both his wrists and dragged him over the grass.

  Behind him, he heard again the whoosh and roar of flames, and when he turned to look, fire was shooting out of the open basement window. Seconds, he thought. They’d gotten out with only seconds to spare. Coughing, he found his fingers linked with Jillian’s and held on tight.

  “Close call.” Nate squatted down next to them as firemen pulled a hose around the corner of the library and aimed it through the window.

  Too close, Ian thought.

  “I saw the smoke from my office and called it in on my way over,” Nate explained. “Any idea what happened?”

  “Fire bomb,” Ian managed to rasp out before another fit of coughing overtook him. “Someone tossed it down the basement stairs.”

  Jillian’s fingers tightened on his. “Miss Emmy Lou?”

  “I got her out just as the firemen arrived,” Nate said. “Someone had knocked her out so she couldn’t tell me you were still inside. The medics are checking her over. Then they’ll take a look at the two of you. I imagine you’ve inhaled a lot of smoke. Once they clean you out, I’ll take your statements.”

  When Nate rose and strode away, Ian turned to face Jillian, and for the first time some of the fear eased inside him. Her face was streaked with soot, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen her more beautiful. She was alive. So was he.

  Emotions tumbled through him as he lifted her fingers to his lips.

  She met his eyes over their clasped hands. “I’d say it’s a lucky thing you didn’t go for seconds.”

  His laugh had him coughing again as he pulled her close for a hug.

  DARK HAD FALLEN BY THE TIME Jillian sat cross-legged on one of Avery’s couches sipping the honeyed tea he’d prepared. Nate had just arrived, and they’d gathered in Avery’s suite for another strategy session. She and Ian had been treated for smoke inhalation and then released. They’d fared better than Miss Emmy Lou, who was being kept overnight in the island clinic because of a possible concussion. Thanks to its stone structure and the quick arrival of the firemen, the main floor of the library had suffered only minor smoke damage from the fire. But the archived records in the basement had been destroyed.

  Jillian envied the brandy Avery was drinking. If it hadn’t been for the raw condition of her throat, she could have used one. So, she imagined, could Ian, who sat next to her. She might even have settled for the beer that Nate was sipping.

  It wasn’t just the narrow escape they’d had from the fire—because she wasn’t letting her mind go there. Every time it did, she relived those last few endless minutes in the basement. When the box had slipped out from beneath Ian’s feet. Fear had nearly paralyzed her. She hadn’t even been aware that she’d grabbed on to his leg. In her mind, she’d pictured him falling to the floor right onto the burning box.

  And when he’d grabbed her and literally shoved her through that window, the flames had been already licking up the sides of the boxes on both sides. She’d seen them, felt them. If Nate hadn’t dragged her out and then helped her with Ian…

  No, she couldn’t think about it. To block the image from her mind, she concentrated on the white dry-erase board sitting on the easel. Avery had brought it in from one of the conference rooms at Ian’s request and he’d written a list—a timeline, he’d called it—of the incidents that had been plaguing the hotel.

  Looking at the list helped her to stop thinking about the fire. Or perhaps it was more honest to say that looking at Ian was helping. She hadn’t been able to let him out of her sight for very long since they’d returned to the hotel. Like a baby, she’d asked him to stay in her room while she showered and changed. Then she’d insisted on going to his room while he did the same.

  She sipped her tea. Pathetic. This wasn’t what Ian had signed on for. They were strangers. The deal was no strings. Just great sex. And here she was starting to cling. He was going to hate it. Anyone would.

  He turned to say something to Nate. She felt that same little skip of her heart, that same heady rush of awareness that she’d felt from the first.

  Except for her, it wasn’t just about the sex anymore. And that had her stomach tied up in knots.

  “Jillian?”

  Startled, she glanced at Nate. “What?”

  “Are you all right? We can do this tomorrow morning if you’d rather,” Nate said.

  Jillian glanced around the room. Everyone was staring at her. Get a grip, Jillian.

  “I’m fine. My mind was just wandering for a moment.”

  She felt Ian’s gaze on her even before he spoke. “I’ve arranged the incidents that have happened at the hotel along a timeline, starting with the date you and your sisters purchased it over a year ago. I’m hoping that looking at a visual picture might help us to get a fresh perspective
on what triggered them and why they’ve escalated so quickly. To start off, each one of us is going to take this pointer and explain to the rest what you see when you look over the timeline.”

  Rising, Jillian gathered her thoughts and took the pointer Ian held out to her. He was a problem she would have to deal with later. Right now they all needed to concentrate on stopping whoever it was who’d tried to kill them in the basement of the library.

  She studied the board for a moment. The first two lines on it were equally spaced. She tapped the pointer on the first one. “It was just fourteen months ago that Naomi, Reese and I signed the purchase offer on Haworth House. The renovation took six months.”

  She tapped the pointer on the next vertical line Ian had drawn. “At six months we opened. No one thought we could get the hotel up and running in that short amount of time, but we did. And for six months after that, thanks to Avery’s great managerial skills, we did moderately well.”

  The next line was much closer. “Then a month ago, when Michael Davenport was arrested here, thanks to Dane and Naomi, the media descended and the successful resolution of that case plus our resident ghost, Hattie, filled the twenty-four-hour news cycles for nearly a week.”

  “Our problems started right after that,” Avery said. “In fact, the air-conditioning system was vandalized on the day after Naomi and Dane left for their holiday in the south of France.”

  “Interesting,” Ian said. “The incidents only begin after a trained investigator is no longer on the premises and not expected back for a while.”

  “And none of the owners are here, either.” Nate set his beer on the coffee table and scribbled something in his notebook. Then he glanced back up at the timeline. “The next three occurrences happen over the course of a week.”

  Jillian tapped the next few lines. “Then I get a call from Colonel Jenkins that he wants to meet me here at Haworth House. He’s heard so much about what I’ve done and he’s interested in my consulting services. So I come here a week early.”