by Harper Allen
“A local. The LoDo area’s an artistic haven,” she said firmly. “Which as a new resident you might find interesting, Ducharme. Why did you sublet the Dickenson’s loft?”
“I needed a base of operations for while I was in Denver. I wanted that base to be near you.” He fixed her with the same steady gaze as before, but this time she instinctively felt he was telling her the truth. “DeMarco isn’t a cute movie gangster, sugar. He’s the real deal, and as cold-blooded as they come. From the moment you became pregnant with his nephew’s baby you were in danger, because that made you the link between him and the Langworthys—and if he finds out that Corso’s theft from Mills & Grommett’s been discovered, he’ll want to sever that link.”
His grip on her shoulders tightened. “DeMarco took one person away from me. I won’t give him the chance to do it a second time, cher’.”
She’d seen him in the romanticized role of pistols at dawn, Marilyn thought, shaken by the icy implacability in his tone. Maybe some part of Con Ducharme fit that vision. But he’d be equally adept in a back alleyway knife fight.
She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. She felt a tiny tremor run through her, and repressed it immediately.
“That night in your office I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.” As if he sensed her doubts, gently he tipped her head back so her eyes met his. His drawl wrapped around her like velvet. “Too thin, for God’s sake, but beautiful. I shouldn’t have let things go so far between us, cher’, but I’d be lying if I said I regretted it. Don’t fight me on this, okay? Maybe I should have told you before I arranged the sublet, but I needed to move fast.”
“I don’t intend to fight you. That woman you met three months ago might not have agreed to your high-handed plan, Con,” she acknowledged somberly. “I’m not that woman anymore. For one thing, I’ve got another little person inside me who needs your protection even more than I do, and for another—”
She attempted a laugh and pulled away, feeling suddenly that the moment had become too intimate. “For another, I’m far from slim or beautiful right now. I’m about as big as a house, and I’m only in my second trimester.”
She had the feeling that not much disconcerted Connor Ducharme. It seemed what she’d just said had.
“Have you looked in the mirror lately, cher’?”
“About thirty seconds before you rang my doorbell,” Marilyn informed him. “I was wondering what had possessed me to buy something that fit me like a second skin. I know what I look like, Con. It’s all going to be worth it, but I’m hardly—”
“You were beautiful before. Now you’re so damn sexy it hurts.”
“It hurts?” It was her turn to be disconcerted. “What do you mean, it hurts?”
“It hurts,” he said bluntly. “It aches. I don’t know how else you want me to say it. It’s the kind of pain a better man than me might grit his teeth about and take a cold shower to get over. I’m not that kind of man.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She stared at him. “I’m almost four months pregnant. How could you possibly find that sexy?” She lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. “No cold showers. Right. Tell me, just how would a man like you handle those painful urges a sex-bomb mama-to-be like me probably sets off each time I lumber into view?”
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
She stifled a sound of exasperation. “No, Con, I don’t—”
His mouth was on hers before she could complete her sentence.
Everything else Con Ducharme did had a kind of controlled grace about it. His walk was more of a prowl. When he’d stripped off his suit jacket there’d been an economical spareness to the action. Even when he’d spoken of his plans for Helio DeMarco he’d shown no more agitation than a tiger would display in attacking a jackal…but there was nothing controlled about his kiss, Marilyn realized instantly, shocked heat running through her. With a second shock she acknowledged that there was nothing controlled about her reaction to it.
Before she realized what she was doing her lips had opened under his and her hands had slid up his chest to clutch tight fistfuls of his shirt. She felt immediately and totally drenched, as if she’d stepped into a waterfall fully clothed.
His right hand was spread wide against the back of her head, his fingers entangled in her hair. With his other arm he pulled her closer to him, and she felt his bicep tightening against the outside curve of her breast, felt herself tauten in automatic response. The tip of his tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth, licked along the vulnerable inside of her lip, pushed past hers without any hesitation at all, as though he’d been waiting all his life for this one moment and had no intention of letting anything hold him back a second longer.
She was being invaded by him, Marilyn thought dazedly. The man was as good as laying claim to her. And whereas only minutes ago she would have found the notion completely outrageous, right now there was something dangerously erotic about the possibility of being claimed by Con Ducharme and in turn claiming him for herself.
When they’d made love three months ago his embrace had numbed the pain that had been tearing her apart. How was it that this time the same pair of arms, the same mouth, the same man was touching off a chain reaction of sparks in all her nerve endings?
Before she could come up with an answer Con took his kiss deeper, and the sparks that had been sizzling inside her flared into a thousand tiny explosions, short-circuiting whatever rational thought she was still capable of and replacing it with pure sensation.
He tasted like chocolate—dark, bittersweet, melting chocolate. Her tongue flicked against his inner lip and then licked again, savoring the essence of him almost guiltily, as if she were indulging in some expressly forbidden treat.
Except chocolate wasn’t forbidden. Wine was forbidden, liquor was a no-no, but even the most cautious of mamas-to-be could have chocolate—
For the second time in the space of a few heartbeats shock electrified her, and for the second time she felt as if she’d been suddenly doused with water. But this time it was ice-water, and it brought her violently back to her senses. She stiffened and began to pull away from him, but even as she did she realized there was no need.
Already Con had lifted his mouth from hers. Wry comprehension overlaid the desire in his eyes as his gaze searched her face.
“I think I get it, sugar,” he said hoarsely. “How ’bout you tell me anyway, just so I’m sure we’re on the same page here?”
“The same page?” It took everything she had to force the words past the constriction in her throat. “All you have to do is take one look at me and you should know what page I’m on, Con. I’m on the pregnancy page. The mother-to-be page. What I’m not on is the hot and heavy, roll in the hay, make a total fool of myself page. I don’t know what got into me to—”
“A fool of yourself?” His expression was unreadable. “Why would you say that?”
The iron band around her chest tightened further. Abruptly Marilyn turned away, only to halt just as abruptly as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
Her hair, normally sleekly brushed and obediently in place, tumbled waywardly around her head. Her lips were slightly swollen. The fuchsia top was barely containing her.
Unbidden, an echo of her grandmother’s words when she’d learned her only granddaughter was pregnant came back to her.
…some ill-advised attempt to emulate the daughter my former son-in-law had with his doxie? Is that why you’ve humiliated our side of the family in such a way—because you thought you could win back your father’s love by presenting him with a grandchild to replace Sky, or Schyler, or whatever your flighty half sister named her baby? If so, my dear, you’ve acted like trailer-trash to no avail. Samuel Langworthy discarded you years ago. What father could do that if his daughter meant anything to him at all?
She met Con’s eyes in the mirror. “Because it would be foolish of me to believe the things you say. And I can’t afford to
be foolish anymore, now that I’m going to be a mother. I’ll work with you to find Tony, Con, but that’s as far as our relationship goes.”
“And if I want it to go further, cher’?” Emerald eyes narrowed at her. “I’m out of luck is what you’re saying?”
An attack of common sense didn’t mean she was blind, Marilyn admitted reluctantly. He was probably the most gorgeous-looking man she’d ever seen, and to pretend she was totally immune to his brand of sexy southern charm would be a lie.
“A man like you is never at the end of his luck, Ducharme,” she said softly. “I’m just saying you’re not getting lucky with the Ice Queen. I don’t think that’s going to cause you any sleepless nights, whatever you said earlier.”
“You might be surprised at what keeps me awake nights.” He shook his head. “The Ice Queen, sugar? You’re anything but. Your trouble is you let the world label you, and then you figured you had to live up to the label. But now and again you slip up and let the real Marilyn out.”
He jerked his head upward at the mobile overhead. “Metal and wire. And still it soars. You made it, didn’t you?”
She frowned, nonplussed. “How did you—” Her brow cleared. “That night at my office. I’d been sketching out some ideas for another design. I suppose you saw them.”
“Half-hidden under some other papers,” Con acknowledged. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t tell anyone you’re secretly an artist, not a corporate drone. Just like I won’t tell anyone you wear fuchsia when you’re not expecting company.”
With one strong finger he reached out and touched a ruffle. “You look like a pink peony, cher’,” he drawled. “You’re out of place in a Denver November, and I’d lay odds Boston’s climate’s too dreary for you, too. If you want to keep it business between us I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee anything. And I still intend to make you dinner. We can brainstorm a plan for tracking down Corso while we’re eating.”
She probably should make some excuse and send him on his way, Marilyn told herself. But she wasn’t going to, and not just because they needed to talk about Tony. All of a sudden the thought of seeing Con to the door and then facing a solitary meal all by herself seemed unbearably empty.
She was attracted to the man. There, she’d admitted it. She was attracted to him. His compliments, as extravagant as they were, made her feel a little less bulky. The fact that he didn’t see her as Mills & Grommett’s V.P. of sales, didn’t see her as Holly Langworthy’s ice-queen half sister, didn’t see her as a Van Buren of the stiffly proper Beacon Hill Van Burens was strangely liberating. So she was attracted to him. And it would be easy to let that attraction veer unwisely into something stronger.
She wasn’t going to be that unwise, but she was going to have dinner with the man, she thought stubbornly. And if she chose to tell herself it was merely because she wanted company tonight, her little deception was no one’s business but hers.
“Dinner it is, then, Detective,” she conceded. “There should be a couple of steaks in—”
She stopped, feeling her heart crashing against her ribs. Immediately Con’s arms were around her again, and this time she had no desire to pull away.
“What is it?”
“It’s a deception,” she said thinly. “A cover. That’s why Sky’s kidnapping makes no sense—because it doesn’t have to. Because it’s smoke and mirrors.”
Con’s grip on her tightened. “A deception? Sorry, cher’, I don’t underst—”
“Of all people you’re the one who should understand.” She stared desperately into his face. “You’re the cardsharp. You’re the sleight-of-hand artist. Isn’t that how it works—while the audience is concentrating on what’s just disappeared in your left hand, your right is palming the ace of spades?”
“Merde.” Con’s tone was flat. “The child means nothing to him. The child’s just the distraction, as far as DeMarco’s concerned.”
“Which means that as soon as Helio no longer needs to distract us—” The words stuck in her throat. He completed her sentence for her.
“As soon as DeMarco no longer needs a distraction, he’ll dispose of Sky,” he said, his voice harsh. “This never was a regular kidnapping. That’s why there never was a ransom demand. Like you said, it’s all smoke and mirrors. While everyone’s occupied with finding Sky, DeMarco’s setting up the crime he really wants to commit, starting with getting his nephew to steal the viral stock he needed from Mills & Grommett.”
A muscle moved at the side of his jaw. “The election’s in three weeks. What better way to ensure that the candidate he’s backing gets elected by a landslide than to link Governor Houghton’s opponent to the most terrible biological disaster this country’s ever known?”
“Helio’s going to release the virus just before the election,” Marilyn whispered.
Con nodded curtly. “DeMarco’s going to release the virus. And then he’s going to get rid of Sky.”
Chapter Five
“We need to establish a contact schedule, Burke. Going for a week and a half with no word from you just isn’t good enough.” Colleen Wellesley shot the third person in the room an impatient look. “Tell him, Wiley. He’s your man.”
“I’m my own man, cher’.” Con turned to the bar, his narrowed gaze meeting the brunette’s frustrated one in the antique mirror. “And you agreed to let me play a lone hand when we set up this operation, remember?”
“A deal I only agreed to on the condition that you’d hand Colorado Confidential Helio DeMarco on a plate,” Colleen snapped. “Not on the condition that you’d play rottweiler at the suggestion we bring in and question the one person who probably knows where to find him.”
Con swung around to face the ex-cop directly. “The Langworthy woman’s an innocent bystander in all this. If it weren’t for what she told me last week we wouldn’t have learned that DeMarco’s nephew stole viral stock from M & G. More importantly, we’d still be in the dark about his real agenda.”
“That virus was stolen by the man who fathered the baby she’s carrying. The transaction took place on Marilyn’s own computer. Innocent bystander?” Colleen gave a sharp laugh. “Accomplice is more like it.”
She paused. Her lips thinned incredulously. “For God’s sake, don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen for the Ice Queen, Burke. Is that what this is all about—she batted those cold blue eyes at you and spun you a tale about how Corso used her and dumped her, and that manly southern chivalry of yours fell for it, hook, line and sinker?”
“Out of bounds, Colleen.” From the far end of the bar Longbottom spoke, the very mildness of his tone a warning. He favored Con with an equally mild glance. “But we wouldn’t have to take off the gloves in this conversation if you’d be a little more forthcoming, Con. Is there something between you and Marilyn Langworthy that we should know about?”
“Not a damn thing, Cap,” Con replied curtly. “Not a single, goddamn thing. You two through grilling me now?” His smile was tight, and it encompassed both Colleen and the man who’d been his friend for more years than he could remember. “Because if you are, I’ll head back to Denver. There’s a poker game I don’t want to miss out on tonight.”
“A poker game?” Anger warred with disbelief on Colleen’s features. The anger won. “If you’re an example of how they run things in the New Orleans marshalls’s office, Burke, no wonder the place is called the Big Easy. But we run a tighter ship here in Colorado, and if you think I’m going to sanction you taking a break from this case just to play cards—”
“Corso sees himself as a high roller,” Con drawled. “The woman you insist is his accomplice told me as much when we were discussing where he might have disappeared to. She also gave me the names of the clubs he gambles at on a regular basis.”
“I see.” Colleen bit the words off. “And just what do you intend to do if and when you run into Tony Corso at one of these clubs? Pull up a chair beside him and join in the game?”
“That’s right.” He
held her angry gaze. “And then I’m going to raise the stakes, cher’. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”
The woman rubbed him the wrong way, Con thought as he let himself out of the ranch house and headed for his vehicle. Or maybe it was more accurate to say this whole setup rubbed him the wrong way—the insistence on toeing the line, the team structure, these meetings, as infrequent as they were.
Except that wasn’t it either. The real reason why he’d acted like such a prick just now with the woman who ran Colorado Confidential was that he was even more angry with his lack of results on this case than she was. Like Wellesley had noted, it had been a week and a half since that night with Marilyn in her apartment and he was no closer now to finding Corso or DeMarco than he’d been then.
“Colleen wants you off the case.”
About to open his car door, Con turned. A few feet away stood Wiley, his slight puffing an obvious indication that the older man had hastened to catch him before he left. The director crossed the gravel drive and joined him.
“I told her you stay on. Maybe I made a mistake.”
“Maybe you did.”
He was pissed off with Longbottom, too, Con thought darkly. How the hell had Wiley figured he’d be a good fit in one of the Confidential organizations? Trying to shoehorn him into Wellesley’s group was an obvious indication his old friend was losing his touch. There’d been a time when nothing had gotten past the portly man now standing in front of him.
“You’re no stranger to Marilyn Langworthy, are you?” Wiley had come out without a coat. He stamped his loafer-shod feet against the November chill and tried to pull the edges of his suit jacket over his comfortable girth. “And you’re what—a second cousin once removed to Sky? I never could figure out those genealogical charts,” he added, frowning, “but I guess the actual relationship’s not important. The main thing is you and the Langworthy woman are almost family, except I get the feeling you’d rather the connection was something different.”