Grace Under Fire

by Beverly Barton

  Before she could cry out, he came up and over her and covered her mouth with his. It was several minutes later that she realized he still wore his briefs. She tugged on them as she spread kisses all over his face. He grabbed and stilled her hand.

  "I don't have any condoms," he told her.

  "Oh, Jed … no…"

  "I never anticipated this happening between us."

  "No, I don't suppose you did." She knew what she wanted to do, what she intended to do if he'd let her. "Let me do for you what you did for me."

  He shook his head. "You don't have to."

  "I want to."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Very sure," she told him.

  He removed his briefs, tossed them on the floor, then scooted into the middle of her bed. "I'm all yours, Blondie."

  She positioned herself between his legs and studied his impressive sex. Renewed arousal rippled through her at the thought of touching him, tasting him, giving him release. First she stroked him with her fingertips, then she lowered her head and licked him as if he were a lollipop. He groaned. She opened her mouth and surrounded him, taking him as deep as she could. He groaned again. Harder. Louder. And when she used her tongue to add just a bit of pressure, he gripped the back of her neck and urged her into action.

  Within minutes he came apart, release hitting him hard. The salty, musky taste assailed her senses as she removed her mouth and licked her lips. He grabbed her and hauled her up to his side, then kissed her with lingering passion, each tasting the other on their lips.

  "Thank you," he said quietly.

  "No, thank you," she replied. "I needed sex. I needed sex with you."

  "Did I help you stop thinking?"

  Yes, he had stopped her from thinking, but he'd made her feel far more than she'd intended. Of course she couldn't admit that to him. "I didn't think about anything, not the past, not my present problems … nothing. I simply felt alive for the first time in years."

  Jed glanced around the room. "Want me to stay all night or should I dress and go back to my room?"

  She hesitated before replying. "Stay. Please."

  "All right." He ran his hand down her neck and across her shoulder. "How about a shower together before we hit the sack?"

  "I'd prefer a bubble bath," she told him. "Are you interested?"

  "Yeah, Blondie, I'm interested. Very interested."

  "I'll scrub your back and you can scrub mine."

  He jumped out of bed, grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. "What are we waiting for?"

  She laughed. Amazing, she realized, she was laughing, having fun … with a man. And not just any man … with Jed, who had pleasured her and whom she had pleasured in return.

  Oh, dear God, please, she thought suddenly, don't let me care too much for him. Don't let me fall in love.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Jed had gotten out of bed over thirty minutes ago, slipped on his jeans and gathered up his clothes and boots; then he sat in a chair across the room and watched Grace while she slept. The beauty and elegance of her bedroom paled in comparison to the naked woman. The covers rested midway down, just enough to reveal her naked shoulder blades. With her back to him, she continued sleeping. During the night he had become acquainted with every inch of her body. He remembered the location of every mole, every freckle and the faint scars left from the car wreck that had almost killed her. He had caressed and kissed and licked those long, luscious legs and those slender arms. Every touch had elicited a reaction from her and prompted her to reciprocate, giving as well as taking. He had wanted to make love to her in every sense of the word, but he wasn't in the habit of keeping condoms in his wallet while he was on assignments like this one, where bodyguard duties were required. He planned to rectify that today. If he couldn't find a way to pick up some himself, he would—albeit reluctantly—ask Dom or Rafe to do it for him. The next time Grace invited him into her bed, he would be prepared.

  How do you know there will be a next time? he asked himself. Grace had needed sex last night. She'd been hurting in a bad way. She hadn't been with anyone in nearly four years. She was sated now, brought to climax half a dozen times during the night. So maybe that's all she needed, all she'd want. God, he hoped not, because he wanted more. He wanted her again right this minute. Despite how good it had been between them, nothing would fully satisfy him until he'd buried himself deep inside her. And there had been a couple of times when Grace had been so consumed with passion that he could have taken her completely and she wouldn't have protested. It hadn't been easy for him to hold back when what he'd wanted more than anything was to delve hard and deep inside her.

  What was it about this woman, Jed wondered, that made her so special? He'd known his fair share of women over the years, had even thought himself in love a few times, but no other woman had ever affected him the way Grace did. Except for the fact that she was exceptionally beautiful, she really wasn't his type. Not that he didn't like the cool and sophisticated Hitchcock blonde type. Who wouldn't? But his tastes usually ran more to earthy women. Wild, big-breasted redheads. Raunchy, fun-loving brunettes.

  His first love had been Charmaine Vaden, a voluptuous seventeen-year-old redhead, and the little sister of his best buddy, Jaron. He and Charmaine had been young lovers, hormone-driven and experimenting with sex and with life. Over the years he'd wondered what happened to Charmaine and wished her well. Then about ten years ago, he'd found out that she had married his uncle Booth. God help her!

  Jed's most recent serious relationship had been with a fiery Hispanic lawyer. They'd come damn near close to making a commitment. That had been nearly five years ago. Since their breakup Marta had married a colleague of hers and they were expecting their first child.

  Sex was an essential part of Jed's life; and even love wasn't new to him. But he'd never fallen so hard, so fast, and for a lady who was all wrong for him. Grace was a blueblood through and through; he was a mongrel with a scandalous heritage. She was definitely class; he definitely wasn't. He liked fast cars, fast women, football and beer. She was the chauffeur-driven type, the marrying kind, and he'd bet his last dime she preferred the opera to sports and a glass of Moet's Dom Perignon to a bottle of Budweiser.

  So knowing all this, why was it that after just one night together, he already realized he couldn't get enough of her. One night wasn't enough—a dozen wouldn't be enough. God, he was hooked, seduced by her beauty, her strengths and weaknesses, her intelligence, her vulnerabilities. He wanted to ravish her and protect her at the same time. And the thought of another man ever touching her made him feel violent. Sometime between last evening and this morning, he had taken possession of Grace Beaumont. As illogical as it sounded, even to him, Grace belonged to him now.

  Hell, he'd lost his mind. What made him think he had a right to lay claim to this woman? They'd had sex. Nothing more.

  Grace turned over onto her back and sighed. Her eyelids fluttered. Jed scooted to the edge of the chair. Should he get up and leave before she woke or should he stay?

  "Jed?" she called his name just as she opened her eyes.

  "Yeah, Blondie, I'm here."

  She rose up in bed and looked around the room to find him. When the sheet slipped below her breasts, she gripped the edge and lifted it high enough to cover her. "Good morning."

  "Good morning yourself." Why the hell did she have to look so good at this time of day. It wasn't quite seven o'clock. They'd stayed awake half the night, tossing and tumbling in the throes of passion. Her hair was disheveled and her face void of makeup. And yet the sight of her took his breath away.

  "Since last night was my first one-night-stand, perhaps you can tell me what the proper etiquette is in a case like this." Grace's gaze met his boldly, but a slight flush colored her cheeks.

  "Was it just a one-night-stand?" he asked, and hated that her answer was so damn important to him.

  Grace pointed to the closet. "Would you mind
getting me a robe? There are several on the first rack to the right. Anything light will do."

  She had neatly evaded his question and he knew better than to push her for an answer. Without saying anything, he got up, went to the closet and found a short, pale blue silk robe. When he took it to her, she looked up at him and smiled as she grabbed the garment.

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  She slipped on the robe, careful to expose as little of her nakedness as possible, then she tossed back the covers and got out of bed. Jed picked up his boots and clothes and headed for the door.

  "Don't go. Not yet." She followed him across the room.

  He turned and faced her, then waited for her to continue.

  "I don't know what last night was," she admitted. "I've had two lovers. I was engaged to one and married to the other. So I lack experience when it comes to … what would you call it? An interlude? An affair?"

  "Why call it anything?" Jed shrugged. "If it was just a one-night-stand and if that's the way we both feel about it, then no big deal, right? I don't think there's any protocol or guidelines for how we're supposed to act the morning after."

  "Are you angry?" she asked.

  "Why should I be angry?"

  "I don't know, hut there's a sharp edge to your voice and you're acting … well, you're behaving as if I've said or done something wrong."

  "Sorry." His gaze bored into hers, daring her to look away. "But you know what? You're a first for me, too. I've never slept with a client. I've never slept with a multimillionaire or a Southern aristocrat with a pedigree she can trace back to Adam and Eve. So I'm as dumbfounded as you are by what happened between us. I can't say I didn't want it—and a lot more—but I didn't plan it, didn't expect it. I have no idea how we're supposed to act this morning or where we go from here."

  She reached out and caressed his cheek. "Why don't I just say thank you very much for what you did for me? I needed you. More than you could possibly know. And you were there for me."

  "Sure, that sounds good to me." If she kept looking at him with those soulful blue eyes, he was going to dump his clothes and boots on the floor and carry her back to bed. And this time, he wasn't going to care that he didn't have a condom.

  "I know we can't pretend it didn't happen," Grace said. "I don't want that. But maybe we should just get on with what has to be done today and let whatever's happening between us take care of itself."

  "If that's what works for you, I can handle it." He turned around, walked to the door and opened it. Before he entered the hall, he glanced over his shoulder and said, "Next time—if there is a next time—I'll be prepared."

  By the expression on her face, he knew she understood his meaning. They both realized there would be a next time. Tonight. Tomorrow. The day after that. And when he took her to bed again, it would be to make love to her fully and completely.

  * * *

  Jaron removed the documents from the hiding place between the mattress and box springs, stuffed them into his briefcase and carried his briefcase outside to his car. He checked his watch. Seven-thirty. Except for the servants, the household was still asleep. Everyone except Ronnie, with whom he'd shared breakfast in the kitchen around six. Booth coming home a day early complicated things, but since the boss slept late as a general rule, it should be simple enough to leave on some pretense of syndicate business before Booth awakened. During the past few years, Booth's addiction to drugs and alcohol had lengthened the hours he spent in bed. If not for the training and working precision of the team surrounding Booth, the demigod's crime empire would have already begun crumbling.

  Before he left the house, Jaron knew he needed to see Charmaine. She'd sent him a message last night telling him they had to talk. He suspected she wanted to finally admit to him that she and Ronnie were lovers.

  Jaron went upstairs, knocked softly on his sister's bedroom door and waited. Booth seldom stayed the night in Charmaine's room; he preferred for her to come to his, then would dismiss her when he'd finished with her. Jaron's stomach knotted. Charmaine had never confided in him, so he didn't really know the extent of Booth's brutality to her. But he had a good idea how bad it was.

  The door eased opened and Charmaine, hidden behind the door, said, "Jaron?"

  "Yeah, it's me. Are you alone?"

  "Yes."

  "Let me come in. I got your message and we do need to talk, but I've got business this morning and have to leave soon."

  She backed up and turned away from him before he saw her face. Jaron came in and closed the door. When he walked up behind her and grasped her shoulders, she winced.

  "Turn around," he said.

  She did. And what he saw made him want to kill Booth. But it wasn't the first time that the sight of his sister's battered face had instilled murderous rage in him. God forgive him, he'd been such a coward all these years, so afraid of Booth that he'd let him get away with repeated brutish cruelty to Charmaine. But that was all about to change. Once he had Grace Beaumont's five million dollars safely tucked away in an island bank account, he would quickly move on to Stage Two of his plans. Setting up his and Charmaine's deaths. He'd already come up with a couple of possible scenarios he thought would work.

  "Dear God, look at you." He lifted his hand to her bruised cheek, but didn't touch her. He stared at her cracked, swollen lip. "I'm going to get you out of this hell. I swear I will. If you can endure it just a few more days…"

  "Don't do it," Charmaine whispered. "I know you're the one and if you follow through with your plans, he will find out. And when he does, he'll kill you."

  Jaron's heartbeat stilled for a millisecond. Charmaine knew he was the traitor Booth was trying to find. But how did she know anything about what had been discussed in Booth's private office last evening, unless Booth himself told her.

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, paying little heed when she whimpered in pain. "Did Booth tell you he suspected me of betrayal?" Jaron got up in her face, talking low so no one could overhear him. "Tell me, damn it, tell me what he said."

  She jerked away from Jaron and sat on the edge of her bed. One bruised leg peeked out when her robe parted slightly. "Booth didn't tell me anything," she said softly. "I have no idea what he suspects, but I know you're the one who sent the letter to Grace Beaumont and called her asking for five million dollars. You're trying to get enough money so we can escape from Booth, aren't you?"

  "How do you— Ronnie! Ronnie told you about what was said in the meeting."

  "It doesn't matter how I know, I just know."

  "Then Booth doesn't suspect me?"

  "No, but it's only a matter of time before he finds out. Whatever you're planning, don't go through with it. You'll be signing your death warrant."

  "I can get it done and we can be long gone, out of the country, before Booth figures it out. Neither of us can go on living this way. One of these days, when Booth beats the hell out of you, he's going to kill you."

  "Yes, I know."

  Jaron paced the room, guilt and regret riding heavily on his shoulders. "This is all my fault. Everything. I got you into this living hell and I'm going to get you out. You just sit tight and wait it out. A few more days. A week at most."

  "Jaron … don't."

  He kissed her forehead. "I've let you down over and over again, but this time I'm going to make it right. I promise."

  She smiled weakly. "Can't I say anything to change your mind?"

  "I've got to go. Wish me luck." He strode to the door, doing his best to appear far more confident than he actually was.

  "You could go to Jed, ask for his help."

  Jaron stopped abruptly and looked back at her. "You know about Jed, then, know he's working for Grace Beaumont."

  Charmaine nodded. "Talk to Jed."

  "Too late for that. Now you take it easy today and think good thoughts."

  Jaron hadn't counted on Jed Tyree being Grace Beaumont's bodyguard, but he couldn't switch gears and chang
e plans now. Jed was sure to recognize him when he showed up at the park, but maybe, for old times' sake, Jed wouldn't rat him out. Jed hated Booth, as much, if not more than he did, so he had to be wanting to get his hands on solid proof against his uncle. Why would Jed care that it cost Ms. Beaumont five mil? She'd have what she wanted—and so would Jed. Revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.

  When Jaron opened the door of Charmaine's bedroom, he nearly ran into Ronnie, who asked, "Is Mrs. Fortier up yet?"

  Jaron closed the door before Ronnie could see inside the bedroom. "She's probably going to stay in her room all day today, so don't disturb her unless she calls for you."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And, Ronnie?"

  "Sir?"

  He wanted to ask Ronnie to take care of Charmaine if anything happened to him today. But he could hardly do that without making Ronnie suspicious.

  "Nothing. Just take care of my sister the way you always do."

  "Yes, sir. I intend to do just that."

  Jaron made a beeline for the front door, then once outside breathed a sigh of relief. He'd make a few stops along the way just to give the appearance that the trip was on the up-and-up. But he wanted to arrive at Terrebonne Park no later than eleven-thirty, grab a bite to eat and be on the lookout for any sign of trouble.

  He realized that a lot of things could go wrong, that he was taking a big risk, that Booth might find out or Jed might turn him in once he recognized him. But if he succeeded, he and Charmaine would be free. That alone was worth any risk.

  * * *

  The satchels containing five million dollars rested in Jed's lap. He sat in the passenger seat of Grace's Mercedes as she drove them along the road leading out of town toward Terrebonne Park. Dom and Kate followed at a discreet distance. Rafe and J.J. had arrived at the park before eleven and by now had thoroughly inspected the place. Dante Moran had been given the details of the exchange so that he could put his men in place. The Feds wanted to know the identity of the guy who had betrayed Booth and get their hands on the proof of the governor's involvement with the syndicate. But for the most part, the federal and Dundee security at Terrebonne Park wasn't set in place to capture one of Booth's underlings, but to protect Grace and retrieve any evidence that would incriminate the head of the Louisiana Mafia. The traitor could be useful to the Bureau, only if he was willing to testify against Booth.