So did Rhy, but he also sensed her relief at the timely diversion. Whatever her memories of that last night of her marriage, she wasn’t anxious to share them, and he had an uneasy suspicion he wouldn’t like hearing them.
He rose from the couch and moved in front of the large oak cabinet against the far wall. Opening the twin-panel doors, he revealed the blackened surface of a large flat-screen TV. With a tiny remote, he scanned through the channels until Paul Hawley’s face appeared in full color. He returned to the couch and indicated she should take a seat. Nicky declined and continued to move about the room like a ghost.
Chapter Eight
Dry-eyed, Nicky watched her father’s best friend commit political suicide. Paul answered each of the tough questions put to him. He shared the details of the part he’d played in the Cambodian incident, while categorically refusing to comment on either General Guimond’s files or Jonathan Everson. The information on the disk spoke for itself, he insisted.
Until Jonathan was captured, they all agreed the less said, the better. The omission would serve to stir the soup of speculation that the senator from Louisiana hid something even more sinister than an involvement in an incident four decades old, but she and Alex’s safety came first. In the end, Paul’s refusal to supply in-depth details about Jonathan or his crimes made little difference. The fact was the audience was witnessing the termination of an otherwise irreproachable career.
Restless, Nicky prowled about the room until Jonathan’s face flashed onto the screen. Ripples of revulsion coursed over her as she froze in place. While the reporter listed the charges for which Jonathan was sought, she stared at the face she’d hoped never to see again.
The close-up photo was obviously a recent one. Tanned and smiling, he projected the image of a confident man in his prime, a man with the world at his feet. Jonathan’s perfectly cut, bleached-blond hair held a slight splash of gray at his temples that hadn’t been there when she fled, but time had done little to detract from his classic good looks. His laughing, crystal-blue eyes and wide, white smile were the same as in the early days of their courtship and marriage.
Hot fingers of loathing crawled up Nicky’s spine. She knew personally how adept he was at hiding the dark soul beneath his all-American demeanor.
His days of pretending to be something he wasn’t were over, thanks to Paul’s actions and her father’s files. The public now knew the charming businessman who moved in some of the most powerful circles in the United States, if not the world, was nothing more than a gangster, but they had no concept of how truly depraved Jonathan was. They didn’t comprehend the lengths to which he sank in order to get his way. How he used his physical strength to crush and control a woman he claimed to love, or how much pleasure he derived from using his ill-gotten gains to finance a terrifying, cat-and-mouse game of life and death.
Nicky blinked, disoriented by the sudden silence when the report came to a close and McLean switched off the TV. She stood in front of a bookcase, stared at the worn bindings, and pondered how a career built over a lifetime could be destroyed in less than ten minutes. The Hawleys’ lives would never be the same. Theirs were two more names added to the growing list of those shattered by a man who, for too long, had kept his true nature hidden from the world. More wreckage left behind in the wake of Jonathan’s evil machinations.
She ran her fingertips along the spines of the books on one shelf. “Never in a million years would I have considered myself someone who could even think of physically harming another person.” Like her even voice, the light touch of her fingers was completely at odds with the seething volcano within. She glanced over one shoulder at McLean. “But as of this moment, I believe I’m capable of doing more than just thinking about it.”
McLean nodded and spoke in a quiet voice, as though he, too, sensed the funereal atmosphere after what they’d just witnessed. “Understandable, but secrets have a tendency to come out. Hawley had to know he’d be dealing with this sooner or later.”
Nicky wanted to argue the point. She didn’t bother. Paul had made his choices in life, and as she knew only too well, you eventually had to pay the price for your mistakes. “That doesn’t make it any easier to handle.”
“No, I don’t guess it would.”
She turned away, and the dark, rainy night beyond the doors made her stomach muscles contract. Desperation leaked into her tone. “Jonathan is out there somewhere.”
“We’ll find him.”
Nicky didn’t acknowledge his words. Instead, she drew several deep breaths and attempted to pull herself back together. She failed miserably. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. “Up until yesterday, the one thing in my favor was that he didn’t know about Alex. Now he does.” A wedge of terror crowded the space between her rib cage and lungs, and her voice took on a wild edge. “How am I going to keep my little boy safe?”
She didn’t hear him approach, but suddenly, McLean’s large, slightly roughened fingers wrapped around her wrists. He turned her to face him. She clung to the steadiness of his blue gaze as he pressed her hands against his chest. He held them there with one hand while slipping his other arm around her waist. He didn’t speak. Long fingers spread wide, he rubbed them over her spine, up, down, then up again, the light touch comforting as he slowly eased her against him.
Terror crumbled beneath confused awareness. A low quivering hummed between her thighs when he drew her body into full contact with his. For a moment, her mind went blank. She blinked at the waves of pleasure crashing over her.
She tried to think and couldn’t.
Confused, Nicky raised her gaze to his. Unblinking, the blue orbs were dark. With shock? Then McLean lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
Her eyes slid closed as she accepted what he offered, what she needed so desperately.
It seemed natural to open her mouth to the pressure of his warm, firm lips. His tongue slid along the sensitive skin just inside her bottom lip. Sighing, she melted against him and curled her tongue around his. He surprised and delighted her when he shuddered in response. Nicky pressed closer, lured by the seductive heat of his big body until the muscled contours of his powerful frame molded to her curves.
For a moment, his arms tightened, and her ribs compressed with his sweet claiming. He deepened the kiss. Nibbling, nipping at her lips, he sucked at her tongue as though he couldn’t get enough. Desire swirled and left her lightheaded. She thrilled at the crush of his hard body all but surrounding hers. Desperate for more, she squirmed against him and rose on her toes to increase the pressure of her lips under his talented mouth.
Nicky couldn’t contain the whimper of disappointment when he suddenly broke the kiss and lifted his head. She opened her eyes, and a moment passed before she recognized the solemnness in his eyes inches from hers. Awareness crept into her lust-swamped mind and instantly cooled the blood simmering in her veins. Startled, her gaze dropped to her closed fists and the soft material of his shirt clenched in her fingers.
God, what am I doing?
A cry of dismay escaped. She opened her fingers and pushed away. McLean didn’t restrain her. His arms opened, held out at his sides as if to show he meant her no harm.
She stumbled back several steps. Curling her fingers, she pressed her fisted hand to her chest over her erratically pounding heart. “Why did you do that?”
He rolled one shoulder in an abbreviated shrug. Thick lashes lowered to shutter his eyes. “You looked like you needed it.”
Confusion slammed into humiliation, but that, at least, she knew how to handle. She’d been humiliated by an expert and survived. The trick was to never let them see you sweat.
Nicky prayed he wouldn’t notice its shaking when she lifted her hand to pat his cheek. “Thanks, McLean, but maybe you should stick to something you’re good at, like your tracking skills.” She cocked her head and pretended to study him. “You are good at tracking, right?”
His eyebrows lowered with his frown. She didn’t give h
im a chance to answer. Spinning away, she left the room in her best imitation of a casual stroll, but by the time she reached the stairs to the second floor, she was shaking so badly she wasn’t sure she could manage them. She clenched her teeth and put one foot in front of the other. When at last she closed the bedroom door behind her, she sagged against the cool wood.
Breathing heavily, her gaze settled on the sleeping form of her son huddled beneath the blankets. What the hell just happened?
She’d lost it. Finally snapped under the pressure.
You looked like you needed it.
Embarrassed fury rejuvenated her flagging muscles, and she pushed away from the door to march into the bathroom. Ripping the band from her hair, she grabbed her brush from the vanity. She yanked the bristles through the loosened strands like a punishment, easing up only when they caught at a tangle and brought tears to her eyes.
A hot ball of bitterness formed in Nicky’s belly. McLean was right. She had needed it. She’d been spiraling toward hysteria, and he calmly went about giving her something else to focus on. As an impromptu diversion, his kiss was remarkably effective. The shock of the unexpected physical contact scattered every single one of her turbulent emotions.
Her groan of dismay echoed through the bath like the low cry of a wounded animal. She squashed her lips together and slapped a hand over her mouth.
Damn it. She had assumed he was as shocked by his actions as she. He certainly appeared so just before his lips pressed to hers. Obviously she’d been wrong, reading something in his mesmerizing eyes that wasn’t there. His casual attitude afterward confirmed he considered the brief encounter unremarkable
She snorted. Why wouldn’t he?
While unexpected, the sexual undercurrents zinging between them weren’t that odd. Tension manifested itself in strange ways, and they were mature adults in extraordinary circumstances. So, McLean had kissed her. No big deal.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Heat unfurled at the memory of being held pressed against warm, solid muscle, searing the blood still flowing at a sluggish pace through her veins. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t her fault she’d been on the verge of melting into a puddle at his feet. For crying out loud, years had passed since she’d been pressed against the body of a male who weighed more than forty pounds. She’d forgotten how good it could feel.
Other than her father, whose visits had been necessarily infrequent, Nicky didn’t let anyone get close enough to touch, much less embrace her. In fact, with the exception of Paul’s assistance in settling her on the couch this morning and Joyce’s quick hug, Alex’s skinny little arms wrapping around her neck in a childish hug had been the extent of her physical contact with another human being for almost a year.
Talk about a dry spell. After five years of deprivation, any normal, healthy woman would react a little crazily to the stimulation of a hard, male body. Too bad the body had to belong to the arrogant Rhyder McLean.
Gulping calming breaths, she brushed off her anger as a case of stung pride. For him to have been unaffected when her reaction was so over the top was, well, beyond embarrassing.
She chewed on her bottom lip. Except he hadn’t been unaffected. She might not have been held sensually in too many years to count, but she’d been plastered against McLean from knees to breasts. His erection pressing against her belly proved he’d been far from unaffected. The memory made her shiver and left her jittery.
Nicky dropped the brush on the counter and hurried into the bedroom. After yanking off her clothes, she changed into an oversized T-shirt and climbed in beside her son in the comfortable double bed. A glance at the closed door tugged her lips down into a frown. Propped on one elbow, she pounded her pillow into shape and flopped to her back with a breathy huff. She glared through the dark at the ceiling. Her molten reaction had nothing to do with Rhyder McLean. Being thrust into contact with any guy after so long would cause the same reaction.
The massive rationalization kept her company throughout the long, sleepless night.
Hands on his hips, Rhy winced at the sound of the guest bedroom door closing with a thud. Jaw clenched, he dropped his chin to his chest. If he could figure out a way to do so without breaking a bone, he’d boot himself squarely in the center of his ass.
You looked like you needed it. Shit.
He straightened and scraped his fingers through his hair. How his crotch had avoided becoming intimately acquainted with her knee, he didn’t know. He’d expect nothing less from the little spitfire. Yeah, she kissed him back, but she eventually reacted in her typically irascible way, slapping him down with a carefully targeted insult. Leave it to the General’s daughter to go straight for the ego.
Rhy shook his head and couldn’t help a sharp chuckle. Someone ought to tell her a bluff only worked when the ploy included an element of believability. The dazed wonder in her exotic eyes when he let her go was a direct contradiction to her sneering insult.
Still, he should never have laid a hand on her. Then the stray thought of how she fit in his arms like no other woman would still be simple theory instead of proven fact. Self-disgust tightened his chest. Hadn’t he learned firsthand that beauty and sex appeal were nothing more than a trapdoor leading to hell?
He hadn’t meant to kiss her. She’d just seemed so lost, and the soft wave of empathy pulsing in his chest was as painful as it was unexpected. The lust she inspired was one thing. He could handle that. Like distrust and anger, the darker emotions were safe, but the fear and anguish in her eyes were all too familiar. He’d seen that same stark despair in his own mirror often enough over the past four years to recognize how close the General’s daughter was to the edge.
Before he’d even registered the move, she was in his arms and…damn. The honeyed sweetness of her lingered on his tongue, and the memory of her curves molded to his body made his hard-on throb against the zipper of his jeans. He slid a hand over his crotch, shifting himself more comfortably. He’d meant only to comfort her, but the ripple of awareness shuddering through her echoed the heat coursing through his body and left him struggling against the need to drag her down and pin her to the floor.
Shit.
He had no business sticking his tongue down a client’s throat, especially one who’d help him attain at least a measure of justice for Brian. He’d have to remember that from now on.
He darted a gaze at the ceiling.
Yeah, good luck with that, buddy.
Chapter Nine
The soft rustle of cloth set Rhy’s senses on alert, and he turned from the counter where he awaited his first cup of coffee. Expecting Nicky, the little boy in airplane pajamas and bare feet, standing in the kitchen doorway as he rubbed a fist in one eye, surprised him. The cowlick disrupting the locks of hair on the side of Alex’s head made Rhy smile.
Alex dropped his arm to his side and met Rhy’s gaze. He didn’t speak, hadn’t spoken a word to Rhy since they’d been introduced at the Hawleys’ last night, but he didn’t look away, either. Other than the crystal blue of his irises, there was no resemblance to the man who’d fathered him. His cap of silky black hair was the same glossy shade as his mother’s, and like her, he had a small frame, but it was his eyes that told the story. They mirrored the same gleam of alert awareness so often found in Nicky’s.
What must it be like for the boy, being torn from all he knew without a moment’s notice? How did a four-year-old process each new move as he and his mother ran from safe haven to safe haven? Did he understand the reasons behind their nomadic life? The sober understanding in his eyes proved he was aware, at least in part, of the precarious nature of their lifestyle, but despite Rhy’s initial perception of Nicky, her protective instincts were strong. Odds were she had shielded her little boy from learning the true scope and source of the craven forces driving her decisions.
Rhy would have done no less for Emily.
Grief lashed at him, and he mentally pushed aside thoughts of his baby girl. Unfort
unately, guilt took grief’s place as he studied Everson’s son. Expediency demanded Rhy use the boy and his mother to bring in Brian’s killer, but the necessity left behind a bitter taste. Nicky was one thing. Even if the claims in the documents Everson had provided were false, she was an adult, and as harsh as the reality was, actions had consequences. She’d married the man. Regardless of whether she considered the marriage a mistake, she was responsible for her connection to Everson, and in the end, helping put him behind bars was to her advantage.
Alex was another matter. The boy was an innocent pawn in a dangerous game. A game Rhy had joined blindly and now must see to the finish. His brother deserved nothing less, but putting Alex in danger was something Rhy wouldn’t do, even for Brian. Rhy would see to it the boy was kept clear of any danger, but in the meantime, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be of use to keep his mother in line.
Because Rhy had only just arrived home from two weeks in the Middle East when he’d taken Everson’s call, the food situation in the house was dire. He’d been about to make a call when Alex appeared. Tapping Lyndsay, a member of his team, for a donut run went above and beyond, but Rhy didn’t quite trust Nicky not to bolt the moment she discovered he’d left them alone. She’d no doubt be pissed if she awoke to find he’d left the house with Alex, but she’d still be here when they got back. She wouldn’t take off without her son.
Rhy offered Alex a gentle smile. “Is your mom still sleeping?”
Alex nodded and shuffled forward. His wrinkling nose reminded Rhy of Nicky and deepened his smile. Alex stopped several feet away. “She’s tired.”
“I’ll bet she is. Are you hungry?”
Irresistible Deceptions Page 7