Stealing Gold (The Logan Series Book 4)

by Sally Clements

  Over the next hour, Ellie talked nonstop, cataloguing all of her children’s achievements and activities. But she didn’t stop there, she also told them about what Adam’s brother’s wives were doing, his cousin, Sorcha and her boyfriend, and news of relatives and friends too numerous to count.

  In the midst of such powerful evidence of a strong, united family, Stacey had never felt more alone in her life.

  The fire’s heat was making her drowsy. She glanced at her watch. 10:30.

  “It’s been a long day—I have to go to bed.” She forced herself up off the chair. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  Everything he thought he knew about her was a lie.

  *****

  Stacy had been quiet since the mention of her mother. Adam searched his memory, had they ever talked about her parents? He came up empty. Theirs had been a relationship full of new love, of the joy of learning and sharing positive things about each other.

  In the buzz of belonging, he’d shared about his family, but she’d been reticent to speak about hers. Frustration gnawed away at him as she left the room; he couldn’t let her go without knowing she was okay.

  “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  He reached her just as she was pushing the door open to her bedroom. “Are you okay?” He stroked the smooth skin of her arm, letting his fingers trace to her wrist and linking his fingers through hers. “My mother can be difficult to take.”

  “I’m fine. Just tired. Your parents are lovely.”

  There was a glint in her eyes. Unshed tears?

  “We never talked about your parents.”

  She nodded. “We should. But not now.” She turned into him, and snaked an arm around his waist. “I wish you could sleep with me tonight.”

  “If I do, they’ll know about it.” He didn’t care if his parents discovered that their relationship was in the process of reigniting, but she seemed to. He stroked a finger across her cheekbones, then over her bottom lip. “They’re just next door, so I won’t be able to make you scream.”

  Her eyes darkened. “I want that. I want you with me, in me. I don’t want to care about being quiet.”

  His body stirred at her words.

  “So that’s why I’m saying goodnight, and I’ll see you in the morning.” She pressed her mouth against his in a kiss that rapidly deepened from casual to something more.

  When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “They’re leaving after lunch. I reckon we should get to the pub early tomorrow, before the crowds set in.”

  “Half past ten?” she teased.

  “Twelve. And not a minute later.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

  *****

  They shared a leisurely lunch in the pub the following day, and by early afternoon, Ellie and Dermot were ready to leave.

  Standing at Adam’s side, Stacy waved them off from the pub’s car park. They’d been warm and welcoming. Genuinely interested in learning more about their ex daughter-in-law. Lying to them—to him—was wrong.

  If he knows the truth, maybe he won’t want me.

  The thought slithered through her consciousness, making her shoulders tense. She’d kept the secret so totally for so many years, fear of how he’d react sickened her.

  “What’s the matter?” Adam walked in front of her. “We’re friends, Stacy. If you’ve changed your mind about taking the next step, it won’t change anything between us.” He grimaced. “I can’t say I’ll be happy about it, but I’ll understand.”

  “That’s not it.” She slipped both arms around his waist and hugged him. “Can we get another drink? I need to talk.”

  “Back inside?” He jerked his head in the direction of the pub which was now full of patrons eating Sunday lunch and drinking.

  “Maybe out here. It’s more private.”

  They walked around the side of the building. Warm sunlight spilled across the small circular metal table. Wide beams formed a pergola overhead, and the entire was swathed in golden-leaved vines.

  “Wine? Gin and tonic?”

  “Rum and Coke.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She appreciated his back view as he walked inside. His broad shoulders and cute butt drew the attention of a couple of women at nearby tables, and she wanted to stalk over and tell them he was hers. To stop them lusting.

  The emotion shook her. She’d never been like that. Never felt proprietorial when it came to any man before. Not even Adam when they were married.

  She closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun. Telling him the truth would change everything. No one wants to learn they’ve been lied to by someone they loved and trusted. But the alternative—keeping the toxic secret inside—was unthinkable.

  A shadow darkened the glow behind her closed lids.

  She snapped back to the present. Adam handed her a glass, and sat down. She’d never been much of a drinker, but she gulped a couple of mouthfuls of liquid courage, then placed the glass on the table.

  Moisture beaded the glass’s surface. One bead cut a meandering trail downward—like a tear on a cheek.

  Adam’s hand covered hers. “What is it?.”

  “I lied to you.” Her voice was no louder than a whisper. “My parents are alive.”

  He probably wasn’t even aware that he’d pulled away, and clasped his hands in his lap. His brow creased. His look of confusion made her ache.. “They’re dead. You told me…”

  “I recited the bible, the book of Stacy.” Her mouth twisted with the bitter words. “Lester called the script he wrote about my background that—the book of Stacy.” She swallowed another mouthful of the rum and Coke, feeling the ice clink against her teeth. “It’s all fiction, every single word.”

  Anger flashed in Adam’s eyes. His teeth clenched so tight, a muscle jumped in the corner of his jaw. “You didn’t trust me enough to tell me this?”

  “I never told anyone.” She forced emphasis into the last word. “Anyone. It was a secret between me, Lester, and them. He paid them for me. He bought me when I was fourteen, and kept paying to ensure my parents’ silence ever since.”

  “So what about now? I’m presuming Lester is no longer paying.” He crossed his arms. His expression shuttered. There was no trace of compassion, no understanding, in his tone or on his face.

  Shocked fear thundered through Stacy like a lightning bolt. She hadn’t even considered what they might do now the money had stopped coming. She didn’t even know the arrangement, how to pay, Lester’d dealt with all that. She sank her head into her hands and groaned. “I don’t know.”

  She hadn’t seen them in ten years. Where to even start?

  “Oh, Christ, Stacy.” He shifted his chair closer, and pulled her into his arms. “Let’s go home.”

  In the car, she sat in a trancelike state. There was no feeling of relief at revealing the secret, only bone-deep exhaustion. She wanted to crawl into bed, hide under the covers, and sleep until she couldn’t sleep any longer.

  Reading her mood perfectly, Adam drove in silence, staring at the road. When they reached the cottage, he walked ahead to unlock the front door, leaving her trailing in his wake.

  At the threshold, he reached for her hand. “Come and talk.”

  She shook her head. Stumbled on the step, and almost fell into his arms. “I can’t.”

  “Bed, then.” He snaked an arm around her waist. “Come to bed.”

  She glanced at him. He couldn’t want sex?

  “You should have told me sooner, but you’ve told me now,” he whispered. “I want to lie next to you.”

  Relief weakened her legs. She swayed to rest against his chest, then gasped when he bent to sweep her into his arms.

  He kicked the door closed, then carried her into his bedroom.

  Chapter Eight

  She was whiter than he’d ever seen her. Lethargic and depleted, as though the confession had taken everything from her and left her drained.

&
nbsp; Leaving her alone wasn’t an option. If he did, she’d regroup, rebuild the walls, and drip out information instead of letting the whole story escape in a flood.

  He needed the flood.

  He placed her on his bed, and removed her shoes. “Take your jeans off.” He walked to the window and jerked the drapes closed, cutting out the sun that blazed into the room. When he turned she hadn’t moved. “Do it, Stacy. You’ll be more comfortable.”

  Her fingers went to the button of her jeans. He stripped to boxers and T-shirt, pulled back the cover, and climbed in. Sure, he looked at her butt covered in pale pink silk—he was a man not a robot. As his body was more than ready to tell him.

  He drew the covers over them. Wrapped his arm around the upper curve of her breasts, but angled the lower part of his body away from her.

  “Tell me.”

  “We lived in a run-down apartment. My parents had the bedroom, and I slept on the couch. When I was a kid, I never understood why so many people were always visiting my house. I used to think it was because we were really popular.” She laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “They’d come all hours of the night. Pa’d take them into the kitchen, and there’d be raised voices, sometimes laughter. My mother was always either drunk or asleep. I got up every morning, dressed, and walked to school. There was never any breakfast in the house—one of my teachers used to bring me in a sandwich and leave it in my desk.”

  “They knew you were neglected? And did nothing?” His arm tightened around her.

  “My father wasn’t the sort of guy you’d want to cross. I was just a kid. I didn’t understand for years what was going on in that house, until I was thirteen and a boy I recognized from school arrived at my house in the middle of the night. I was leaving the bathroom and Pa was taking him into the kitchen. I was so surprised, I blurted out ‘what are you doing here?’

  “‘Getting ready to get high.’ That’s what he said. That was the moment I discovered my dad was a dealer. Before then, they’d made feeble efforts to keep it from me, but after that night, neither of them even bothered to hide it. My ma was always one of three things: drunk, stoned, or passed out.”

  “Have you brothers or sisters?”

  Her head moved gently against his. “There was only me.”

  “What about social services?”

  “They came around sometimes, but we’d lie on the floor to hide, and pretend we were out. The teacher who gave me the sandwiches—she taught me how to play the guitar, and encouraged me to enter a singing competition. I didn’t win, I came second, but Lester was there, and he recorded me from the audience and wanted to be my manager.” Her voice was scratchy, hoarse.

  “He got the record label interested, but as I was underage, I had to have one of my parents sign it, or give Lester authority to act for me. I remember the shock on his face when they brazenly asked him what it was worth. What he’d pay for their signatures.”

  He couldn’t stop himself holding her closer. Laying his head against the back of hers, and breathing in the scent of her hair. “They signed.”

  “He drew up an agreement. I wanted to just get emancipation. I was old enough to make my own deals—I didn’t need them—but Lester had bigger plans. Being the fourteen-year-old who had cut herself away from her loser family would affect the way the record label saw me. Might cause trouble in the future. So he insisted we work with my parents.

  He suggested a deal where he could represent me and effectively become my guardian, in exchange for an initial lump sum, and a payment to them every year. He also wanted them to stay away and never refer to me as their daughter.”

  “They were okay with this?” He tried to keep the anger banked. It was difficult to avoid comparing her background to his.

  “It was as though they’d won the lottery.” She wrapped her hand around his wrist. “They signed the agreement, and I left. I haven’t seen or heard from them in a decade. My real name is Stacy Harmon.” She laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. “I haven’t spoken my own name in ten years either.” She glanced back at him. “Do you hate me now?”

  He couldn’t hate her if he tried. Hell, he was finding it difficult not to love her. He stroked her cheekbone. “Why would I hate you?” he whispered.

  “Because I lied. Because I’m not who you think I am.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then flicked to his eyes again. The look in them, so raw, so exposed, stole his breath.

  “You lied. But you’re who I think you are. You’re who I’ve always known you were.”

  Adam pushed the hair from her shoulder. Stroked it away to leave her neck exposed. He propped himself on his elbow, and pressed his mouth to the vertebrae bump on the top of her spine, feeling her shiver.

  Her scent filled his senses. Every taste of her was intoxicating. In one fluid movement, he kissed open mouthed the long, creamy column of her neck, teasing her earlobe between his teeth, then continuing down the corded muscles to lick her clavicle.

  Her hand gripped his wrist, and she forced her head back with a sound half sigh, half moan.

  She was wearing a jersey top that crossed over at her breasts. He pushed the clinging fabric from her shoulder along with the pale pink silk bra strap, and curved his hand around her shoulder as he continued to kiss every newly exposed inch.

  She twisted in his arm, until they were chest to chest. Eye to eye. Mouth to mouth.

  Her hands moved to his neck, and then she was kissing him back. Passionately, desperate and fevered. There was no stopping, no putting this genie back into the bottle. With a groan, Adam stripped off her top and unhooked her bra, then tore off his T-shirt so they were skin to skin.

  God, he’d missed her so much.

  “I missed you.” Her murmured words fanned the flames, and when he cupped her breasts, she arched her back and pressed them harder into his hands.

  He rolled her stiffened nipples between his fingers, bent his head to suck one into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the peak then sucking strongly. She was talking, urging him on, shifting on the sheets, unable to keep still.

  He stroked from upper arms to wrists, loving the small sounds she made in response. and focused on tasting every single inch of her.

  *****

  She was a coward. There was more to tell, but with Adam’s mouth tracing a line across her ribcage and stomach, talking was well and truly off the agenda. The rest of the story didn’t matter anyway—she’d signed away her old life when she’d changed her name—had become reborn that day. She was Stacy Gold now, nothing in her past could touch her anymore.

  She wanted to spear her fingers through Adam’s hair, to caress the dark strands, but his hold on her wrists was absolute. Dominant. Hot as hell.

  No-one made her feel like this. His head edged lower, and she parted her legs to allow him access to her core. His hot breath feathered over her as he pressed his mouth to the silk covering her.

  “That feels incredible.”

  He released her wrists, and moved her thighs even further apart. Looked up, with a smile on his face at odds with the dark intensity in his eyes.

  She arched her back. His smile widened—turned wicked. Then he peeled off her panties, and settled between her thighs.

  He blew across her fevered skin. Touched her with his fingers and his tongue. Made her desperate for more. By the time he sheathed himself and entered her, her hands were gripping his torso tight, and her face was buried in his neck.

  Her legs wound around him—her pelvis tilted to bring him deeper.

  “Kiss me.”

  She obeyed his hoarse command, loving the feel of his raspy chin against her own. Their eyes were open as they started to move in perfect synchronicity. This. This was what was missing from her life. This man.

  With darkened eyes and a forehead creased in concentration, his body tensed.

  Her heart hammered with every rapid breath. Deep inside, internal muscles clenched as the shivers began, then spread outward diffusing her entire body. Her nail
s dug into his back as the delicious waves of orgasm washed over them both.

  How had she ever thought they were over?

  *****

  Stacy woke at five-thirty. The sky was washed pink. A new day. A new beginning. Could it be a new life?

  Adam was facing away from her.

  The sheet skimmed over the curve of his butt, revealing his beautiful back. If she gave in to impulse and let her fingers play over that muscled skin, he’d wake and pull her close. But he needed rest. They’d made love three times over the course of the night, and every time her heart had lifted, and flooded with joy. For now, it was enough to appreciate the view.

  With a satisfied exhale, she examined further. Dark hair, curling at his nape. Wide shoulders. With a frown, she noticed imperfections. Small crescent marks. Heat flooded her face at the memory of her desperate passion the previous night which had left evidence on his skin. Scratches on your skin.

  A melody wound through her mind, unexpected and unbidden. She scooted backwards, and crept out of bed, careful not to wake him. Grabbed his robe from the chair, wrapped herself in it, and went in search of her guitar.

  The cottage was tranquil. Far enough from the road that there were no traffic sounds.

  She opened the back door and took a step outside, but the early morning air held a trace of chill, so she retreated back into the cottage. The sofa was a perfect place to work. She wrapped a rug around her knees, and picked up her guitar. After an hour or so her neck began to ache. She rocked her head side to side, then stood to bend and stretch muscles knotted from staying too long in the same position.

  It was still early; Adam had yet to wake. She measured grounds into the coffeemaker and went to take a quick shower.

  On tour, assistants dealt with trivial things like laundry, but here at the cottage there were no such luxuries. Adam had given her basic instructions on the working of the washing machine, followed by apologies for the lack of tumble-drier.

  The sky was cloudless—perfect drying weather.

  She rounded up her dirty clothes and put on a wash. Then rewarded herself by pouring a giant cup of coffee to take outside.