Defending the Heiress

by Susan Kearney

  She wanted so badly for him to touch her, stroke the throbbing ache between her legs without the impediment of material. But this was his game and he set the rules.

  “Remember in the whirlpool I told you I would take my turn?”

  “But—”

  “You have any objections?”

  “Only that…”

  “That what?”

  She licked her bottom lip as he teased the admission from her. “You’re going too slowly.”

  “That’s because I love the way you respond to me. I love your passion.” He moved his finger faster, back and forth over the scrap of lace. “I love you, Daria.”

  Her head was spinning. Her body was striving for release and yet, she didn’t want to miss a word that he was saying. “What?”

  “You heard me. I love you.”

  And then he dropped to his knees, leaving her breasts bared to the nippy night air. She groaned in frustration as he abandoned her breasts, but when he finally slid her panties down, she had only one thought.

  Yes! She wanted him skin to skin.

  Suddenly his mouth was on her and she almost screamed with joy, excitement and need. Her breaths came in giant rasps. Her nipples tightened into hard buds. And then with his tongue he urged her higher until she exploded with a muffled shout of excitement.

  In that moment, she didn’t care where she was or how she’d gotten there. She only knew that never in her life had she blossomed with such intense emotions. She wanted to laugh and cry and dance with the wonder. But she was held fast by Ryker, who would do with her what he wished.

  Ryker stood and she wrapped her arms over his head.

  Hands on her bottom, he carried her to her car and set her down on the hood. At the cool metal against her bare rear, she grinned. Who would have thought that Daria Harrington could get so carried away that she would have sex on the hood of her car?

  She sat up to unsnap his pants. But he was way ahead of her. Already unzipped, he’d produced a condom from his pocket, then slid out of his pants and shorts.

  “Hurry.”

  “Why?” He tore open the packet.

  She took his offering and rolled the condom over him in one swift, sure gesture. “Because I want you inside me.”

  “Why?”

  She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. His clever fingers found her again and she leaned back on the hood and wrapped her legs around his waist. He thrust into her, and then held still, except for his fingers that strummed her like a fine guitar.

  As the sensations built, quickly, fiercely, she gasped. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Move your hips, damn you.”

  “Not until you say the magic words.”

  She would have said anything he asked. Frantic with desire, she lifted her hips to meet him. “I…already…said…please.”

  “Tell me that you want me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me that you need me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me you love me.”

  “Yes.”

  Every muscle clenched and then released. She screamed his name. He spurted inside her with a lusty groan. And at the same moment, her car’s alarm went off in a loud, long siren.

  Chapter Twelve

  At the sound of the car alarm, Ryker laughed.

  Still under him on the car’s hood, Daria punched him in the arm. “Get off me.”

  “Why?” he teased.

  She wasn’t amused. “The security guard will be here in seconds.”

  “Okay. Okay. If you insist.” He stood, found his pants and removed the car keys from the pocket. After unlocking the front door, he slid behind the wheel, placed the key in the ignition and turned off the siren.

  Daria had straightened her bra but had just finished rebuttoning her blouse, crookedly, when the security guard rounded the corner. Still chuckling, Ryker covered his lap with his pants and wondered how long it would take Daria to notice that the guard had spied Ryker’s undershorts on the pavement.

  “Ma’am? Is everything all right?”

  “Fine.” Daria finally saw Ryker’s navy shorts by the front tire and her lips twitched in amusement. “The alarm went off…by accident. Sorry.”

  The guard rolled his eyes toward the garage ceiling and strolled away. Daria scooped up Ryker’s underwear, walked around the car, opened the door and flopped into the seat, where she burst out laughing.

  “I can’t believe…that we…that he almost…” She tossed him his undershorts. “How the hell did you talk me into…?”

  “Maybe because you love me.”

  At his words, her laughter subsided. Her smile disappeared. “I never said…”

  “Yes, you did. While we were making love. When I told you that you loved me, you distinctly answered in the affirmative.”

  “I didn’t know what I was…” He’d never seen her so flustered, and with her hair messed and her lipstick smudged, he thought she looked adorable. He actually thought about taking her into his arms for a repeat performance in the back seat.

  “Lots of people say things they don’t really mean when they are in the throes of passion.”

  At the confusion and dismay on her face, his heart sank like a ship going down in a storm, but he responded by teasing. “Don’t tell me that I’m going to have to make love to you again to get you to admit the truth.”

  “That’s not funny.” Her mood had changed from happy and lusty and comical to way too dark and serious in the space of a heartbeat.

  “I’m not laughing.” In fact, if he hadn’t possessed an overabundance of self-esteem he might have thought she was using him as a distraction from her problems. But he knew she wouldn’t have responded to him so freely unless her emotions were involved. That’s why he’d pushed the sexual encounter to the edge, hoping she’d realize that she would never have acted as she had if she didn’t love him. His plan had backfired, and now angry at himself, he didn’t have a plan B or a preset escape route.

  “Why is it so difficult for you to admit that you have feelings for me?”

  She hesitated, licked her bottom lip, then finally spoke. “I do…like you.”

  She liked him. That was like saying he was nice. And he felt nice and insulted. Angry at himself for failing to get her to admit that she had feelings for him, he just barely refrained from slamming a fist into the dash. “So you make love like we just did to every man you merely like?”

  She removed a brush from her purse and ran it through her hair. “Must we talk about this right now? Your team is waiting in my apartment.”

  “They can wait.”

  “I need a shower.”

  “You’re stalling, looking for excuses to avoid thinking about what you feel. If you keep looking hard enough, sooner or later you’ll find a reason to push me away for good. Is that what you want?”

  He opened the car door, stood and stepped into his shorts and pants. For such an outwardly well-adjusted woman, she certainly had a lot of issues. Sheesh. And she’d had the nerve to tell him that he couldn’t make a relationship work. Well, all of his might have been short-term, but at least emotions had been in the mix.

  “I’m sorry.” Daria came around the car and touched his arm.

  He pulled away. Right now he didn’t want her touch. Right now he also wanted a shower—to wash away her scent, if only he could as easily wash away the memory of how good it felt to hold her, kiss her, make love to her. He’d never told another woman that he loved her, and she’d thrown his feelings back in his face like rotten garbage.

  Okay. Fine. She didn’t love him. He closed off the pain. He would deal with her rejection. Later.

  First he had a mission to finish—and as far as he was concerned, the sooner the better.

  “I said I was sorry,” she repeated.

  “I heard. You might want to straighten your blouse so my friends don’t guess that you’ve been slumming.”

  She gasped. “That’s not true.
” She straightened her buttons with shaking fingers.

  “Really?”

  “Don’t think you can take the high ground with me.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Name one thing we have in common.”

  “Making love in a whirlpool and on the hood of a car.”

  “Besides sex.”

  “Now you want to place conditions on my feelings? Well, at least I have them. You’re so damn careful to protect yourself that you don’t take any risks.”

  “See. You just proved my point. We’re different.”

  “Damn right.”

  “Too different to have a future together.”

  “But not so different that you can’t take pleasure when I’m deep inside you, right?”

  IT TOOK DARIA the walk from the garage to her apartment to get a grip on the riot of emotions cascading through her like a rushing waterfall. Making love with Ryker had swept her into a current so strong that she’d had no choice but to let him carry her away. Talk about the ultimate rush. She could barely walk in a straight line. Her pulse remained elevated and her thoughts kept tugging her under until she could barely keep her head above water.

  And while she struggled to right herself in a world gone topsy-turvy, she’d hurt the one man trying to help her. She hadn’t meant to, had only wanted to be honest with him, to let him know exactly where she stood. But now she couldn’t seem to keep her feet under her.

  Only years of pulling herself together for business meetings no matter what crises she’d just faced moments before let her walk into her apartment with composure.

  Ryker strode beside her, his face showing no emotion, his eyes alert. He’d hidden his emotions so easily that if she hadn’t known him well, she would have thought they didn’t exist. But a telltale clench of the muscles in his jaw and the hard set of his shoulders told her that he wouldn’t easily forgive or forget her refusal to love him back.

  Ryker only thought he was in love with her. No doubt he equated great lust with a great love, but that wasn’t necessarily always so. No doubt he liked her, but he would move on to his next mission and eventually another woman. Time and distance had a way of making feelings fade—even lust.

  Daria stepped inside her apartment and a tall, dark-haired man in an immaculate custom suit greeted her with an outstretched hand. “Daria Harrington, I’m Logan Kincaid.”

  As smooth as his manicured nails, with no rough edges, Ryker’s boss gave away nothing. She had no idea what he thought about her. Or if he could tell what she and Ryker had been doing on the hood of her car such a short time ago. While she’d rebuttoned her blouse, tucked it in neatly and brushed her hair, she could do nothing to disguise her swollen lips or ease the electric tension radiating between her and Ryker.

  Logan Kincaid’s handshake was cordial. She looked him straight in the eye and spoke her mind. “Ryker warned me you’d be here.”

  “Did he also tell you that we plan to stay until we find what we need?” Logan asked the question as if he already knew that she didn’t like friends in her home, never mind strangers. But she sensed an inherent honor in the man that made accepting him easier.

  Logan’s team had taken over her living area. Computer hardware, communications gear and guns had been neatly placed in the space, and she could see they’d gone out of their way not to disturb her plants.

  What surprised her the most was her cat. Ace sat on a crate calmly licking his paws and surveying the scene as if he were king of his domain. And King and Queen were poking their noses out of the plants in curiosity.

  Ryker nodded a greeting to the others but spoke to Logan. “You get any intel on Harry’s last missions?”

  “Web made a few calls.”

  Ryker introduced the team to Daria, helping her put faces to names, with the information he’d given her earlier. “Web’s our contact with the Agency. Jack Donovan’s our pilot. And Travis is our negotiator and communications expert.”

  Web separated himself from his position by the wall and she realized he’d been sitting so still that he drew little attention to himself. When he moved, he had had a certain grace and economy of motion that reminded her of Ace, or a deadly jungle cat.

  Web spoke in an understated way that invoked confidence. “I made a few calls. Since Harry’s marriage, his missions over the last few years were more diplomatic than dangerous. We don’t believe his death was Agency connected.”

  Daria suspected that Web had a wealth of information that he’d condensed to those few sentences. But she wasn’t surprised that neither Ryker nor Logan asked more questions. Apparently they trusted Web’s judgment, and information was shared on a need-to-know basis.

  The pilot, Jack Donovan, jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the office where Ryker had set up his equipment. “Your computer’s calling you. It’s been beeping since we arrived.”

  “I’m running my pattern-breaker program.” Ryker headed toward her office, leaving her alone with his team.

  She should have felt ill at ease, but for some reason she didn’t. The men around her were so efficient and professional that she trusted them in her private domain.

  “Can I get you men anything? Coffee?”

  “No, thank you. If we need anything, we’ll fend for ourselves.” Logan spoke as team leader but reminded her of a high-caliber business executive. “We’ll try not to interfere, but…”

  “But?”

  “I’m afraid we’ve already invaded your privacy.”

  She could tell he didn’t mean camping out in her apartment. As if on a signal, Travis, his diamond earring winking, approached. “I listened to your message machine.”

  Just because she hadn’t answered her messages in several days gave him no right. “Did you open my mail, too?”

  Logan looked her straight in the eye. “I would if I thought it necessary.”

  Reminding herself that Logan was trying to help her, she clamped down tight on her emotions. “So tell me, what’s on my message machine that’s caught your interest?”

  “I think you should hear this yourself.” Travis retrieved her machine and plugged it into one of the many extension cords crisscrossing the room that now supplied power to all their electronic gear.

  “Call me,” Mike Brannigan’s voice demanded.

  The message ended with a beep and moved on to the next one.

  “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

  “That’s Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth had left her a message! At the sound of her dead friend’s voice, at the shock of hearing her speaking as if she were still alive, Daria started to shake. Hearing Elizabeth was spooky.

  “That’s it?” Disappointment washed through her. She had no idea what Elizabeth had wanted to tell her.

  Travis clicked off the machine. Logan led Daria to the bench by the blooming daylilies. He gave her a few moments to think, as if he realized the shock she had received.

  Elizabeth had called her the night after Daria had caught her friend with her brother. Daria had been out with Ryker, and when she’d come in she’d been too tired to check her messages. The next day had been too late. Elizabeth had died.

  “Are you okay?” Logan asked. “Can I get you a glass of water?”

  She shook her head and repeated, “That was Elizabeth.”

  “Do you have any idea what was so important?”

  “She might have been calling to talk to me about my brother. I’d just found out that night that they were seeing one another.”

  “But?”

  “Talking about Peter should have made her happy. And on the tape…she sounded frightened.”

  “Elizabeth managed your Fifth Avenue store, correct? Could her message have had anything to do with the business?”

  “It’s possible. But she didn’t try to reach me again the next morning, which she probably would have done if the problem was store related.”

  “So you think this was personal?”

  “I can’t be sure but I think so.
If only I’d listened to my messages and called her back.”

  “Could Elizabeth have spoken to her family about—”

  “She doesn’t have anyone—except, maybe she talked to Peter.”

  Peter was home from the hospital. He was staying with her folks for a few days so they could keep an eye on him. She knew because she’d called several times today. And not once would Shandra or her father put her call through. Earlier, she hadn’t wanted to try his cell phone and disturb him if he was sleeping, but now she didn’t hesitate.

  Daria dialed her brother and tried to forget how he’d treated her while he’d been in the hospital. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’m scared to eat anything.”

  “Peter, you have to eat.”

  “I know. I know. But if you’d seen poor Elizabeth’s face…”

  “She left me a message on my answering machine.”

  Peter’s voice rose hysterically. “Oh, God. What did she say?”

  “Just that she had to talk to me about something important.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Do you have any idea what she wanted to tell me?”

  Peter regained control of himself. “I don’t know. We weren’t at the stage where we shared everything. And tomorrow we have to bury her.”

  His voice ended on a sob. And she worried about him having a breakdown. He’d lost a sister and a lover, and he didn’t sound as if he wanted to talk to her.

  He almost died. Of course he’s wary.

  “Are you well enough to attend the funeral? No one would hold it against you if you didn’t—”

  “I need to say goodbye.”

  “But if you aren’t—”

  “I’m going.” He raised his voice defiantly. Yet he seemed fragile. One moment he’d been sobbing, the next angry, as if on an emotional roller coaster.

  She didn’t want to do anything to upset him. “Okay, Peter. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Daria hung up the phone. She realized that Logan Kincaid was an expert interrogator. He knew when to be polite, when to press and when to listen. Right now he let her explain. “Peter doesn’t have a clue. He sounds as if he’s barely holding himself together.”