The world had a rhythm. Her heartbeat and his, the way their bodies moved together, the thrum of their blood. It all worked together until there was nothing outside this room, nothing beyond this bed.
The dance gradually changed, grew wildly fevered. What had been romantic was now primal. What had been sweet was now a hunger that demanded to be satisfied. Luther drove deep, deeper than before, and Cleo shattered. She cried out, and clutched at his heated body as completion racked her and stole her breath.
Luther groaned, drove himself deep once more, and found completion with her. She felt him, deep inside, giving over to a pleasure like no other. His body tensed and shook, and when the moment passed he rested his head against her shoulder and kissed her neck, and moved inside her one more time.
“I really did intend to get all our clothes off first,” he said, slipping his hand beneath her nightgown to caress her breast.
Cleo rested her hand against Luther’s head, cradling him to her with a deep sense of possessiveness she hadn’t known was possible. “Next time.”
He lifted his head and stared down at her, his own hand traveling to her hair and brushing a long strand away from her face. “You’re so beautiful, sometimes it hurts to look at you.”
Cleo smiled. She hadn’t felt beautiful for a very long time, but Luther, looking down at her this way, made her feel special. Beautiful and loved.
“I love you,” she said.
He answered with a kiss.
Luther couldn’t sleep, and it wasn’t the threat to Cleo or the possible danger to himself, once the public breakup took place, that niggled at his brain and kept him from finding rest with the most beautiful woman in the world nestled in his arms.
Cleo slept like a baby, satisfied, content, feeling safe in this room.
She’d told him that she loved him, and he didn’t doubt that it was true. She found some kind of joy in that love, a release he didn’t understand.
He didn’t deny that he loved her, too, but the words stuck in his throat. He didn’t open himself up that way. He’d already told her, in no uncertain terms, what she meant to him. He couldn’t imagine going back to a life without her. She was a part of him, and always would be. She made him crazy. Wasn’t that enough?
Love was tricky. He’d seen love, when it went wrong, eat away at his mother. He’d seen it almost destroy Ray, a man who was not easy to shake. At least a part of the problem was the words themselves. What did they mean? I love you. I want you. I need you. You are my obsession. The man who’d been sending Cleo red roses for the past four months, the man who’d threatened her subtly with white roses and not so subtly with the word Boom written on a card, no doubt thought he loved her. That wasn’t love, it was a sick delusion.
The truth of the matter was, telling Cleo he loved her would make him vulnerable. He’d feel like a sap, putting his heart on his sleeve that way, calling on words that had been overused since men first began trying to charm their way into the pants of starry-eyed women who would settle for nothing else.
He’d never told a woman he loved her. Never. He didn’t lie, he didn’t open up and spill his guts any more than he absolutely had to; he left the charming bit to guys like Ray and Mikey.
He felt Cleo come awake long before she said a word or changed her breathing. She rocked one foot and traced her fingertips down his side. She was no longer completely relaxed; a mild tension worked its way through her body. He felt it.
Already he wanted her again. Could he ever get enough of her? Until he’d met Cleo, no woman had made him lose control. She smiled at him and he got a hard-on. She touched him and he forgot everything but the way they came together, the way she took him into her body and offered everything a woman could offer a man.
“Too much caffeine,” she said.
“What?”
“You drink too much coffee. The caffeine is keeping you awake.”
“It’s not caffeine that’s keeping me awake tonight.”
“Then, what is it?”
Your life is on the line and so is mine. My life is changing so fast it makes my head spin. I don’t know if I can love you enough. He couldn’t tell her any of that, so he took her hand and gently guided it lower to touch his erection.
“Oh,” she breathed long and slow, as she stroked him with bold fingers. “We can take care of that.”
This is what he got for taking Cleo into his apartment so he could shower, shave, and put on clean clothes. A purple shirt, a purple tie and silk underwear with hearts on it. She’d insisted, and damn if he could bring himself to deny her anything.
Tonight was the night, but now that the time had arrived, he wasn’t sure he could carry out the plan. They were to have an argument in front of the usual Friday night crowd. How could he even fake an argument with her?
They sat at a table near the stage, talking in whispers while Edgar set up the bar for the night. Eric wasn’t here yet, and neither was Lizzy. Luther held Cleo’s hand on top of the round table made just for two.
“Do we really have to do this?” Cleo asked. “I don’t want him coming after you.”
“It’s the quickest way to end it.”
She nodded. “I do want that.” Her eyes met his, wide, amber eyes that could be cutting one minute and openly vulnerable the next. “Maybe you should hit me.”
“I will not!”
“It would be sure to send whoever’s been avenging me into a tailspin. You wouldn’t have to hit me hard, just—”
“No.”
Cleo leaned over the table, bringing her face close to his and yet not close enough. “How am I supposed to pretend to hate you?” she whispered. “How am I supposed to look at you without everyone in the room knowing how I really feel?”
He reached across the table and cupped her cheek. Florida was sounding better and better. He was so tempted just to pack up, toss her over his shoulder, and go. Someone else could solve the crime, and when it was all over… man, he had it bad if he was considering running away, even temporarily.
The door swung open, and Boone came striding in. The PI glanced around the dimly lit bar, saw Luther, and jerked his head back indicating the front door. Then he turned and walked out, practically bursting into the mild afternoon air.
“I think Boone wants me.”
“He’s not the only one,” Cleo teased.
“I’ll be right back.” He left her sitting at the table, hesitant to leave even for a few minutes.
Boone leaned against the red brick of the building, one leg cocked up so the sole of his boot rested against the wall. His head stayed down, eyes on the sidewalk. He got right to the point.
“When this is said and done, if you want to deck me, I’ll understand.”
Luther nodded. Boone was probably about to quit, and he wasn’t surprised. This was tame duty for a Sinclair. “What’s up?”
“Cleo and the piano player are up to something.”
Luther shook his head. “No. I don’t—”
Boone lifted his head and pinned dark, hooded eyes on Luther. “Let me finish, and then you can argue or ask questions or hit me, or do whatever else you need to do.”
Luther’s heart sank. He definitely didn’t like the way this sounded.
“Last week, I saw Cleo hand the piano man a wad of cash.” He raised his hand to stop Luther’s argument. “It wasn’t his pay for a week’s work. She handles that by check, not by cash. I noticed that they kept sneaking around. Sometimes they’d sneak back to her office, close the door and whisper for a few minutes, before Eric came back out again and they pretended nothing had happened.”
Luther gritted his teeth.
“So I did some checking. I know you didn’t ask me to check on Cleo or Eric, I was only supposed to be keeping an eye on her, but something was up. I smelled it. I felt it.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. Long dark hair danced around his hard face.
“What did you find?” Luther asked.
“Eric hired a private inves
tigator to check into you. He was working on Cleo’s behalf.”
A cold wind whipped against Luther’s face, chilling his blood. “Who did they hire?”
“Some guy out of a big firm in Atlanta.”
If she needed a PI, why not go to Boone? Or Ray? And why in hell was she checking up on him? “What exactly was she looking for?” Weaknesses and blackmail material, no doubt.
“I don’t know. The Atlanta PI refused to share specifics. I can take a drive, find the guy and beat it out of him, if you want, but...”
“No.”
Boone shrugged and got quiet. Everything got quiet.
Luther took a deep breath of chilly air that burned his lungs. He was an idiot. He had no right to continue on this case, to continue as a homicide detective. Cleo had played him like a worn deck of cards, and he’d fallen for every line. Every lie.
Had she and Eric been working together on other projects, too? Like ridding the world of her ex-husband and an annoying heckler? Was he next? Why had he thought she was different?
“Thanks,” he said coolly, not letting on that inside he was falling apart.
“Don’t thank me,” Boone muttered. “I didn’t much like what I found, and I sure as hell hated having to tell you.”
“Didn’t have any choice,” Luther said.
“Nope.”
Luther turned around and stormed back into Cleo’s. She was still sitting at the table they’d shared, and when she lifted her head to watch him walk toward her, she smiled. If he didn’t know better, he’d never believe she was anything but the beautiful, loving woman he’d thought her to be.
He didn’t see the deceit in her eyes, but it was there. It had to be. The gut he had always relied on for the truth had failed him this time. Cleo had found and taken control of a whole other part of his anatomy.
He placed hands, palms down, on the table, leaned toward Cleo and caught her eye. “Game’s over, sweetheart.”
Chapter Fifteen
It took a moment for the anger in Luther’s eyes to register. That anger was so cutting, Cleo felt it slice through her. Her smile faded quickly. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong,” he repeated. “Where do you want me to start? I know, how about we start with you and Eric.”
“There is no me and—”
“Don’t lie.”
She’d never seen his face so hard. His eyes were dark, unreadable. His lips uninviting. “Luther...”
“If you wanted to hire a private investigator, why not Ray?” he continued. “Why not Boone? Unless, of course, you didn’t want me to know you had someone checking me out. I’m such an idiot,” he growled. “I practically begged you to lead me around by the pecker.” He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “What else did you and Eric do together? How clever of you to arrange to be sleeping with me when the kid did away with Webb.”
Something inside her snapped. He could get angry, and of course he didn’t understand anything, but he had no right to attack her this way. “You’ve found me out,” she said.
A muscle in his jaw twitched, a sure sign he was about to lose it. “You and Eric were in this together all along, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. We were in cahoots,” she said sharply. “Isn’t that how you’d put it? We conspired together. We plotted and planned and sneaked around behind your back.”
He shook his head, as Cleo leapt to her feet. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”
“Neither can I.” She headed for the bar, but Luther stopped her with a steely hand on her wrist. She glanced over her shoulder to give him an icy glare, never letting on that he’d cut her so deeply. She hadn’t known the process of a breaking heart could take so damn long. She fell apart bit by painful bit. She’d never let him, or anyone else, see that pain.
“Afraid I’m going to run? Not in these shoes.” She tugged, trying to release herself, and still Luther didn’t let go. She couldn’t stand for him to touch her, not this way. He didn’t loosen his grip. She tugged more frantically.
“Hey!” Edgar rounded the bar, tossing his towel behind him and stalking forward. “Let her go.”
“Stay out of this, old man,” Luther seethed.
“Who you calling old man, you—”
“Stop it!” Cleo cried, silencing them both. “Edgar, take a break. I need to talk to Luther alone.”
Edgar didn’t like the idea, but he headed for the back room and a short break, promising to return in a matter of minutes. When he was gone, Cleo stared down at her hand.
“If you want your confession,” she said, “let me go. I have what you’re looking for behind the bar.”
He finally released her, snapping his hand up as if touching her had burned him.
Cleo held her head high as she walked to the bar and rounded it, snatching her purse from underneath. She placed the leather purse on the bar and opened it, never once letting on that her heart was pounding so hard she expected it to come through her chest. Never letting on that it was breaking into a million pieces. It hurt. She’d never thought anyone could hurt her this way.
“You’re right, of course,” she said, almost calmly. “I went to Eric and asked for his help.”
Luther stood by the table, half a room away, stony and unforgiving.
“He’s a good friend,” she added softly. “And he did as I asked without questioning my motives.”
Malone grit his teeth, his jaw going tight.
Cleo reached into her purse and pulled out the fat envelope. “I suppose I could have given this to you earlier, but I wanted the timing to be right, and I didn’t want anyone else to be around, since I couldn’t be sure how you’d feel about this.”
“How do you expect me to feel?”
She ignored him and waved the thick envelope above the bar. “Your father’s name was Trent Luther. Everything your mother told you was true, in one way or another. There’s a picture in here of your parents at the senior prom, another of your father in uniform. They’re not very good pictures, just faxed copies, but the originals are on their way.”
Her club had never been so quiet. Nothing moved; neither of them breathed. Luther’s stony face softened a little, and he closed his eyes in a long, pained blink.
Finally, he mumbled a foul word and took a single step forward. “I really am an idiot.”
“Just stay over there,” Cleo ordered.
He did as she asked, coming to a dead halt there where they’d danced, and laughed, and where she’d begun to fall in love.
“You have a grandmother living,” she continued crisply. “Your father’s mother. She lives in a small town in Georgia, and she doesn’t know you exist. I told the PI to keep it quiet, since I didn’t know what you’d want to do.”
“Cleo...” He tried another step forward.
“Stop! You think you can give me that look and take everything back? No, it doesn’t work that way.” She leaned on the bar and wagged the envelope in his direction. “Do you know why you never found any of this on your own? You didn’t even look, because you expect the worst of everyone. If you had looked, you wouldn’t have gotten far. You think so damn logically. There’s no room in that linear brain of yours for fanciful notions of any kind. God, when you were a kid did you ever color outside the lines? Did you ever have an imaginary friend or dance without music, or...” She shook her head. “It never occurred to you that everything your mother said about your father might be true, in some way. Or that his name might be Trent Luther and not Luther Trent. Or that when I went behind your back it might be for some reason other than betrayal.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No,” she snapped. “Don’t apologize. It’s best to find out now that you don’t care for me enough to see the truth. You’re always going to assume the worst, and I can’t live that way.” She tossed the envelope at him. It spun like a Frisbee and hit him square in the chest. He caught the envelope as it ricocheted off his purple tie. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Malone. Do what
you want with the information the PI gathered, but do me a favor and trash the card. It’s nothing more than a load of sentimental crap.”
She was on the verge of tears. Tears! She didn’t cry, she didn’t plead. She’d been so sure that what she and Luther had was real and strong. A breeze of her own making had blown away what she’d thought to be lasting.
Luther’s own distrust of everything and everyone around him was stronger than her notions of forever.
Hell, there was no such thing as forever. Why had she forgotten that?
“I’m so sorry,” Luther said again, coming toward the bar with long, cautious steps.
“Get out of my club,” she said firmly.
He shook his head. “I can’t leave you here alone.”
“Boone’s outside, Edgar’s inside, and soon my co-conspirator Eric will be here. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t like leaving you, and you know damn well I don’t trust Eric or Edgar.”
“Neither of them could ever hurt me the way you just did.”
“Cleo—”
“I don’t want you here. Get out.”
Finally he backed toward the front door, envelope in hand, well-deserved guilt written on his face. “I’ll be back tonight,” he said firmly.
Of course he would. He had a job to do, and the damn job came before everything else. At least she wouldn’t have to pretend that he’d broken her heart.
Luther leaned against the brick wall of Cleo’s and looked at the picture of his mother and father. He almost didn’t recognize his mother, she looked so young and happy in the photo. And his father… There was no denying that this man was indeed his father. The resemblance was uncanny.
“It never occurred to me,” Boone muttered, adding a foul word or two.
CAPTURING CLEO Page 17