by Teresa Hill
She pulled up in front of the house. Tucker, looking grim, was waiting.
"You heard?" she said.
"Some nonsense about the boy being a runaway from Mississippi who's been hiding out at the Bennett house."
"Alabama," she said. "The boy's from Alabama. Birmingham, I heard. The sheriff found a bulletin on him."
"Bulletin?" he said. "What did the kid do?"
"Ran away."
"Why'd he come here? Why the Bennett house?"
"I don't know. It's as good a place as any."
Tucker shook his head. "Something's not right. That boy... for him to be there. For him to look so much like Janet.... It can't be a coincidence."
"What else could it be?" Martha asked.
"I don't know. But I'm going to find out."
* * *
They were once again near downtown Lexington when Stephen turned into a street of elegant, brick town houses in a lushly landscaped, garden-like setting, pulling into the driveway of an end unit. There were wide sidewalks, a profusion of fall color from the trees and the flowers. He led her to the back of his town house to a patio that bordered a small lake. Allie stared at the water, a calm silvery blue. Some ducks paddled lazily across the water in the distance. Birds soared overhead. She was so tired, and she just wanted to forget about every ugly thing they'd found out today. She wanted to let this place soothe her, let herself have just a few more moments with Stephen.
"It's lovely here," she said. "You built this development?"
"Rebuilt it."
"I like it, Stephen."
"I was hoping you would."
He slid an arm around her waist and led her inside. It wasn't flashy or fancy, the room filled with solid pieces of furniture, the overall feeling one of understated elegance, but comfort, as well. The walls were an off-white color—a chalk-like shade that looked rich and wonderfully textured against the accents in dark green. She could see Stephen here, sprawled out on the big, striped sofa, walking down the beautiful staircase in the morning with his shirt unbuttoned, the tails untucked, his hair still wet from the shower.
"It suits you," she said.
"How is that?"
"Solid, strong, dependable." She believed he was all of those things.
He winced. "God, I'm that boring?"
"No." She shook her head. "Nothing like that."
Stephen put his keys on the foyer table. Allie followed him, admiring the massive mahogany door with its elegant cut-glass window, the antique light fixture that hung in the hallway in front of the elaborate gold-tinted mirror.
She could see them reflected in the mirror. He caught her staring and came up behind her, slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her body back to rest against his. Heat radiated from him. He spread his fingers wide, his palm flat against her abdomen. Pleasure unfurled deep inside her belly, his effect on her that potent, that instantaneous.
"I don't want to take you back just yet." He nudged her head to the side, his mouth settling on the tender skin at the side of her neck. "You scared me today. The way you looked at me. The things you were thinking about me."
Allie shivered as his teeth nipped at her neck, her body coming alive. She could feel his erection pressed against her hips. Instinctively, she arched against him, increasing the pressure, unable to stop herself from wanting him. Hours ago, she'd been crushed, thinking he'd gotten her sister pregnant, believing everything between him and her had been a lie.
"It scared me, too," she admitted.
"I'm afraid you're going to hate me before this is over," he said, through lips pressed to her skin, his mouth doing terribly erotic things to her neck.
And then she knew he'd brought her here to make love to her again, to bind them even more strongly together. She shivered at the thought. And she wanted it, too. To be bound to him to the point where nothing at all could ever come between them again.
Stephen lifted his head. His gaze met hers in the mirror. "Are you afraid of me?"
"I've never been afraid of you. Just of the way you make me feel."
He turned her in his arms until she faced him, letting her rest there against him for a minute, unashamed of his blatant arousal, letting her think of what he wanted, letting her make up her mind about what she wanted, as well.
"Come upstairs with me, Allie. I have a big, old mahogany bed with cream-colored sheets, and I've been picturing you there. I've been thinking you're going to look absolutely perfect in my bed."
Trembling at the erotic image he painted in her head, she slipped her hand into his and let him lead her upstairs. The bed was magnificent, the wood rich and positively gleaming, the mattress sitting high off the floor. He pulled back the comforter and the top sheet, lifted her up onto the mattress, and eased her back until she was lying on the bed. Then he undressed her.
Watching her the entire time, he slipped off her shoes, unbuttoned the cuffs of her sleeves, then the tiny buttons down the front of her dress. He pulled the ends of the dress open, leaving her in a lacy pair of panties and a matching bra and stockings that stopped at the top of her thighs.
The bra fastened in front, and he undid that and pulled it open as well, then slid her panties down her hips and stepped back to study her as she imagined he might study a painting in a museum.
His look alone was enough to heat her body, to have her itching to touch him, to look at him as he was looking at her. She felt her nipples bunch up, begging for his touch, until they almost hurt. She watched him watch the changes in them, nearly arched up off the bed in anticipation when he reached out a hand and slowly stroked one of her breasts, then the other.
He used one hand, five fingers, running all over her body, as if he might memorize her by touch alone. He stroked her jaw, ran the pad of his finger along her bottom lip. She touched the tip of her tongue to his thumb and was rewarded by the first, brief break in his control. He looked for a minute like he was going to devour her whole, but pulled back a second later and resumed that sweet, slow stroking of her body.
When his hand finally dipped between her thighs, there was no hiding what he'd done to her. Her body was soft and moist, ready for him. He slid one finger deep inside of her, and she cried out, wondering if he was going to do nothing but watch her. If he was going to make her writhe and beg and cry out.
She'd never seen a man more intent on learning her body, learning what she liked and how she responded to his touch. She was twisting and turning on the bed, fighting to stay still but unable to, fighting not to reach for him, not to beg for him. But she was dying to touch him.
She closed her eyes, was breathing as if she'd just ran for miles. There were tears seeping out of the corners of her eyes, and then she felt his tongue, warm and smooth and velvety soft, against the inside curve of her knee. The bed gave beneath his weight. He settled himself between her legs, a hand on either side of her legs as he leaned over her.
He slowly worked his way up her thigh, licking and sucking and biting gently. She cried out when he reached her center, at the first sweet touch of his tongue, and moments later when her whole body convulsed around him. He was merciless, going on and on when she knew she just couldn't take anymore. Sensations piled on top of sensations, overwhelming her, leaving her drained and weak and still so very needy. Until he finally stripped off his clothes and came to her, covering her body with his, filling all the empty places until she thought she would never be alone again, that she would never be afraid, and knowing she would always, always need him.
* * *
The phone rang, pulling Stephen out of a deep, satisfying sleep. He grabbed the receiver and rolled onto his back. Allie followed him, sleepily settling herself against his side, trusting him at least in her sleep.
Stephen brought the phone to his ear. "Hello."
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" a voice roared at him.
"Hello, Dad," Stephen said casually.
"Have you lost your mind?" his father said. "Knocking your br
other down in a public place. Bloodying his nose. Your brother is so upset. I've never seen him like this. I don't know how I'm going to calm him down, and with the election coming up, he doesn't need this, Stephen. None of us do. I still can't believe you did it. Despite our differences, I never thought you'd forget who your family is. Or hurt your brother this way."
"What can I say? I never knew my brother had taken up raping sixteen-year-old girls as a pastime."
"Is that what that woman told you? And I know damned well it wasn't Megan Bennett. There's no way Alicia Bennett could know for sure what happened fifteen years ago. She's going fishing, Stephen, probably thinking we'd pay a fortune to keep her from running her mouth about Rich and her sister, and I can't believe you've let yourself be a part of that, of ruining your brother's career."
"I think Rich can ruin his career all by himself without any help from me. Or Allie."
"She's playing with you, Stephen. I can't believe you've been fooled so easily by a woman."
"You don't know anything about her, Dad."
"I know I trusted you to take care of this for me. I can't believe I thought you could do this for me without screwing it up."
"I can't believe you protected a rapist. Did you know he killed her, Dad? Did you protect him then, too?"
"That's nonsense. That girl died in a car accident in Georgia."
"Did she? Or did somebody run her car off the road that night."
"You don't know what you're talking about," his father said. "And if you'd just done what I told you, none of this would have come out. We could have paid that girl a nice price for that house, and she would have been gone by now. I could have handled it—"
"The way you handled Megan Bennett? You must have loved it that I was the one who helped her out of town, solving that little problem for you."
"It was convenient," his father said.
"God," Stephen groaned. He'd helped them get away with it.
"You're forgetting what's important here, son. We're your family, and family's what counts."
"I've done all I'm ever going to do in the name of family loyalty. You've shoved that concept down my throat for years, and it's not going to work anymore."
"Stephen, I swear to God I wonder if you're really my son."
"Right now I wish I wasn't."
"Stay away from Alicia Bennett."
"Tell Rich to stay away from her. If he tries to come near her, he'll have to get past me. The same goes for anybody else you might send after her."
"Don't you threaten me, Stephen."
"I mean it. I'm through looking the other way. For both of you. Stay the hell away from Allie."
"Stephen—"
He hung up the phone, none too gently, unable to listen any longer, uninterested in anything else his father might have to say. Allie stirred in his arms, and he sank back down onto the bed, pulling her closer.
He was going to lose her. If not today, then tomorrow. Maybe the day after. This was likely all the time he'd ever have with her, and it might be selfish of him to take it. But he'd take anything he could get with her at this point.
Turning onto his side, he stared down at her, her dark hair spread out on the pillow, her skin looking warm and soft against the pale sheets. There were dark smudges under her eyes—evidence of too many sleepless nights spent scared and alone in that old house. He brushed his thumb across her lips, bent to kiss her softly.
"God, Allie," he said.
He wanted to ignore everything else in the whole world and keep her here with him for a while, where no one would bother them and nothing from the past would come between them, not yet.
She was beautiful to him. Sexy. Determined. Vulnerable in a way that made him ache for her. He had a deep need to fix everything for her, to make it his mission in life to make her smile and to keep her safe. He'd never needed to do that for a woman before, and he worried that when he lost her, there'd be a huge hole in his life that no one else would ever fill. He was afraid his life would never be complete without her, and he figured he'd sealed his fate earlier today by not telling her about the little job his father had him doing.
She gave a sigh and rolled over again, her head landing on his shoulder, her entire body pressed against his. Stephen put both his arms around her and wondered how he'd ever let go.
* * *
Allie slept against the curve of his shoulder in that marvelous old bed of his, for how long, she didn't know. She thought she heard the phone, but was too sleepy to care. As she was drifting off again, clipped, angry words brought her fully awake.
Stephen hung up and kissed her softly. "Sorry about that."
She snuggled against him, feeling his arms tighten around her. "Your brother?" she guessed.
"No. My father."
Allie rolled away from him, just far enough that she could see his face. His hair was mussed, and his chest was bare, and he looked upset.
"He's angry at you?" she asked.
"Nothing unusual about that, believe me."
"Stephen..."
"I don't want to talk about it, Allie. Not my family and all that it's done to yours. Not while you're in my bed, all right?"
He meant it, she realized, quietly agreeing.
He propped a few pillows against the headboard and settled her against them. The sheet shifted as she moved, slipping down to her waist, leaving her breasts bare, and he was looking at her again.
"I was right." He gave her a devastating smile. "You're perfect here."
"Is that how you judge your women?" she teased. "By whether or not they look right in your bed?"
"No," he said, leaning over her, kissing her softly, sensuously. "I've got a checklist."
"You would."
He leaned over and kissed her again. "I think about how she tastes."
He ran a hand down her arm to cup her breast, his hand big and dark on the milky white skin. "The way her body responds to my touch."
He slid his arms around her until her breasts were nestled against his chest. "Whether she fits in my arms as if she'd been made just for me."
A moment later he was nudging her thighs apart, slipping inside of her, filling her once again. Her eyes were open, and she watched him, watched the look of utter concentration on his face.
"I think about whether I go a little crazy every time I'm inside of her. Whether she's the first thing I think about every morning when I'm still half asleep, whether her face is drifting through my mind at night. Whether I can't stop thinking about her all day, and worrying about her and wishing I was with her. Whether I can't stop wishing I could stand between her and the rest of the world and make sure no one ever hurts her again, or make it plain that anyone who dares try will have to answer to me. I think about whether I want to own her, body and soul. Whether I have a thoroughly primitive urge to stake my claim, one that can never be ignored."
He started moving inside of her, in and out in long, powerful strokes, and she clung to him, her hands on the powerful muscles of his upper arms, her nipples nestled into the dark, curling hairs on his chest. His mouth came down to hers, then went to her neck.
"That's how I judge a woman, Allie. That's how I know."
"Know what?" she whispered.
"That you belong here with me."
* * *
What could a woman say to that, Allie thought as she lay in his bed a few minutes later. His cream-colored sheets still tangled around her, his bed still warm from the heat of his body, his scent still clinging to the pillow where she lay her head. It was just a bunch of pretty words, the practical side of her, worried they were moving much too fast, argued. Sweet, flattering, arousing words. He didn't have to bother with them. He didn't need words at all to seduce her. She'd fallen easily enough into his bed, and she had no desire to leave.
But it hadn't felt like empty, meaningless words, her heart argued. It had felt real. That marvelous look in his smoke-colored eyes, that mesmerizing mouth, the magical feel of him moving inside of he
r—all of that seemed to work to spin some kind of spell around her to make her believe everything he said.
"I don't think I want to know what's going through your head right now."
Allie looked up and saw him standing there, a mountain of smooth, wet golden skin and muscles, covered by nothing but a bath towel. He looked marvelous when he was naked. Even when he was mad.
"I was just—"
"No. I mean it. I can tell from the expression on your face that I don't want to know."
"Stephen—"
He turned his back to her and started tearing through his closet for clothes. "Don't tell me you regret this, Allie, okay? Don't tell me. Not now."
"All right. I won't."
"Don't tell me it was a mistake, either."
He dropped the towel and stepped into a pair of white briefs, then jeans, faded to a pale blue that clung to every enticing curve. He grabbed a shirt, shoving his arms through the sleeves and buttoning it.
"It's getting late," she said carefully. "And I want to get back to Casey."
"I thought you would." He gave her a bleak look. "Take a shower first, if you like. I'll find us something to eat, and then we'll get out of here."
Allie waited until he left the room, then stood up, taking the sheet with her as she walked into the bathroom, still hot and steamy and smelling of him.
She stood in front of the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at her. Her hair was a mess, and she looked very pale, except for a reddish spot on her skin here and there from where he'd nuzzled his cheek or his jaw or his mouth against her, the stubble on his face abrading her skin. She looked exactly like a woman who'd spent the early evening hours in bed with a man, one who claimed she looked perfect in his bed, that she felt perfect in his arms. She was falling head over heels in love with him.