by Caro LaFever
“Serve her.” Nick waved at his irritatingly satisfied wife. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Pacing into the compact bedroom, he headed for the adjoining bath. With a flick of his wrist, he turned on the shower, and then yanked off his slacks and silk shirt. He stepped under the gush of water and tried to relax in the sudden warmth.
“Nick.” His wife’s insistent voice crashed through his reach for calm.
Another sharp Spanish curse ripped from his mouth. He glanced toward the door. “Go eat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Nope. Not happening.” Slamming the door behind her, she began taking off her clothes.
Two seconds ago, he’d thought about using sex to distract. Right at this moment, though, he realized this was not a good idea. He was tense. Turmoil edged his temper. It wouldn’t take much for him to lose control and take her. Take in a way he’d never done with her before. Take in a raw, savage way that would confirm everything his pa had ever said about him. “Not now, Jessie.”
“Now.” In typical McDowell fashion, she bulldozed right over him by dropping the last of her clothes—a pretty pink bra and panties he’d bought her in San Francisco—onto the dark-green carpet. “I’m coming in.”
“No te atreves.” Don’t you dare. He tried to articulate his threat in English, but his brain wouldn’t cooperate. His voice, much to his disgust, had gone guttural.
With need, with anger, with fear.
“I can tell that’s a demand, but since I don’t speak the language, I can’t be held responsible for not obeying.” She flung the glass door open and stepped in.
Unlike the Painted Lady’s attic shower they’d lazed and loved in, this shower was much too tight for two. Her body brushed along his side, then his front. Nick knew she felt his excitement because her eyes turned golden.
“Mmm,” she hummed.
“This isn’t going to help,” he muttered, even as his hands landed on her slick hips.
“Just like you told me when we first had sex,” her own hands moved to his chest, “you need to relax.”
How could he relax when his Jessie could be hurt? How could he hang on to an absurd hope that all would be well, when his gut told him it would not? And how could he figure out a way to explain the unexplainable to this woman without driving her away?
Sighing, she slid her hand to his tight jaw. “Tell me. Everything will be fine.”
No, it wouldn’t. The realization strummed through him like a dirge, chanting his doom. His fear twisted into a rage so hot and hard he barely breathed. “You need to leave.”
“I won’t. You need me.”
With a wrench, he yanked her up, plastering her on the tiled wall. But this time, instead of loving her the way a wife should be loved, he possessed her, grabbing her mouth with his, seizing her sex with his own.
She yelped as her back hit the wall. But then, inexplicably, she moaned her acceptance for what he did to her.
Nick planted his forehead on the tile and stopped thinking. His body took over, turning him into the savage his father always told him he was. His hips bucked against hers, surely leaving pain behind. His fingers tightened on her skin, undoubtedly leaving bruises.
He didn’t care.
He took.
You are a crazy savage.
The orgasm raced through him like a desert flash flood. It washed away all charm and poise, all of his hard-won skills of concealment. The only thing left to him was his wretched animalistic need for this woman.
La mujar.
Long seconds went by. The longest seconds of his life. The steam from the hot water swirled around them, mixing with his cold sweat and heated breath. He didn’t lift his head to look at her. What would she see?
Too much. Far too much.
What he’d done here was unforgivable. Just as his actions had incited his mamá into her craziness. Just as his behavior at the ranch had caused his pa to erupt in anger again and again until he’d driven his son away for good. He’d taken without giving. Even through his turmoil, he’d recognized she hadn’t orgasmed. No, the only thing she’d done was endure.
“Nick?” Her voice was tentative.
There was no answer for this. Nothing he could possibly do or say to explain why he’d slammed his new wife on a wall and pummeled into her like a brute. A soft sigh shifted her torso along his, and he realized he still held her captive against the tile. But he couldn’t step back.
She’d see him.
Her fingers danced a light touch over his shoulders, to his sweaty neck and into his wet hair. “Nick?”
He pressed his forehead hard on the slick wall.
“Whatever is wrong,” she said, not tentative anymore, but determined in her usual way. “I don’t care.”
She would care. If he didn’t figure this out, if he didn’t find his charm and find that damn contract, she’d care. She’d care so much she’d leave him.
“What I do care about is you.” She kept going, kept digging into him. “And I want you to know…”
Know what? Know that he’d made a deal guaranteed to hurt this woman?
“I will love you forever,” she whispered into his ear. “No matter what.”
Chapter 27
Tasmania looked exactly as it had the last time Jess had been here, two years ago. Hobart’s harbor glittered in the sunlight, the tall masts of the sailboats arching into the blue sky while Mount Wellington towered behind the city, a misty cloud hiding its top.
“Your hotel has great views.” Her husband’s voice came from behind her, contained and cool as it had been since they’d landed on the island yesterday. His voice matched the attitude he’d given her ever since he walked out of his plane’s bathroom without a word. Leaving her in the shower wondering what had happened.
The tone of his voice and the fake attitude irritated her. Yet, she didn’t confront him. There was enough to deal with in the next few days.
“Yes, Dad bought the place because of the views.”
“Good choice.” He walked to her side.
She’d stationed herself on the penthouse’s balcony as soon as their breakfast had been cleared away. The soft, early-summer breeze wafted through her hair, lifting the loose strands. It had been intentional, leaving her hair down. Nick hadn’t touched her since those intense moments in the shower, telling her last night he’d give her some space to grieve by sleeping in the other bedroom.
She desperately wanted him to touch her.
But even her hair hadn’t drawn him in.
“Where is your mother buried?” he said, his long fingers sliding across the sandstone railing. “And where are you planning on burying your father?”
“She’s buried at Cornelian Bay down the street.” Jess had gone back and forth on what to do. However, as the words came out of her mouth, her decision solidified. “But Dad wouldn’t want to be in the ground.”
“No?” Nick’s hand stopped moving. “Then, what’s your plan?”
She was struck again by how much he trusted her intelligence and judgment. If her father had been here, he would have been directing the staff to make his arrangements and barreling forward without a thought to her wishes. Turning, she smiled at her husband for the first time that day. “I want to scatter his ashes on her grave.”
His brows rose, the lushness of them catching the sunlight, making the ends glow like gold. “I can call the authorities, if you want me to.”
“Yes, please.” She glanced at the wooden urn sitting on the corner table where she’d placed it last night. “I want to get this done as soon as possible.”
“Good idea.” Finally, he touched her, his hand sliding down her arm to grasp her own. “Then we can return to San Francisco straight away.”
Apparently, he didn’t enjoy Tasmania very much. Which she couldn’t understand. The countryside was lovely, Hobart was filled with historic sites ready to explore, and the seashore beckoned. She’d thought perhaps they could stay here for awhile and make
some preliminary decisions on what needed to be updated in this particular McDowell hotel. In fact, although her heart mourned her father, she couldn’t help but be excited to tackle the many projects that had swum in her head for years. Having Nick with her to join in the decision-making merely accelerated her anticipation.
He stared at her, his blue eyes shadowed, his mouth taut.
What was wrong with him? “Tell me what’s going—”
“I’ll make some calls.” Shifting away from her, he’d dropped her hand. “We’ll probably need a permit.”
That had been the last time he touched her for days. Yes, he’d made the calls and gotten the permit. And yes, he had been by her side when she’d scattered the ashes over the green grass and white marble of her mother’s grave.
But he hadn’t been with her.
He hadn’t touched her.
Sitting in her father’s old-fashioned office in the depths of the hotel, Jess flipped through the paperwork with listless hands. As usual, Clyde McDowell had left behind piles of stray documents and notes. She’d cleared out his leather satchel back in Las Vegas and had found important contracts mixed in with odd rambling nothings. Sending the contracts to their lawyers and throwing away the rest, she’d known that at every McDowell hotel, she’d find the same mess needing to be catalogued. In some ways, it would be the last goodbye, a bittersweet walk through her father’s life.
“Jessie?” Nick’s voice cut through her thoughts with a sharp clip.
Swinging her head up, she gaped at him. Instead of the cool, calm man who’d been her companion for the last several days, she saw the angry man.
His blue eyes blazed with a fevered glare. Restless, he paced into the office and over to the small window. Rain splattered on the panes, dimming the light, beating a soft tattoo into the room. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it into a dark tumble. For the first time, she realized it wasn’t the classic short cut he usually wore. He needed a haircut. The stray thought filled her with affection mixed with worry. What was going on with him? “Did you need something from me?”
A mumble of Spanish filtered from the window.
She’d bet that was swearing. This was the man who lost his temper in a flash, a man who was far more emotional and passionate than he allowed himself to think. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he barked, before swiveling to pace back to the open doorway. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
“It’s only ten a.m.,” she countered. “We just ate breakfast two hours ago.”
“Then let’s take a walk.” His mouth twisted into a hard grimace.
“It’s raining.” Worry cut through her inclination to let things lie for now. But it had been three days since they’d connected in a meaningful way. She’d said goodbye to her dad, she’d made her peace with his death, and it was time to move into the future with her husband. Her love. “Why don’t you go make some calls—”
“We need to leave.” Striding to the desk, his gaze flickered over the piles of papers and then, to hers.
Her heart clunked in her chest.
Because there was a fury in that blue. An ugly, festering madness that shocked her.
A cold shiver raced along her skin. “Why do we need to leave so soon? Why do you hate this place?”
“I don’t hate this place.” His hand sliced through the air in curt dismissal. “I just want to return to San Francisco. I want to get back to where we were before.”
Standing, she took a chance and approached him. She’d foolishly let him dictate these last few days, instinctively responding to his unspoken demand to leave him alone. That was going to end. They had so much to look forward to and although the last days had been tough, she still held a kernel of joy in her heart. The joy of loving this man and being loved in return.
Her hand slid into his.
He jerked away, pacing to the door.
Something inside her broke. “Nick.”
“We should go,” he demanded. “We’ve done what we have to do here, and I need to get back to my own business.”
His business?
In the euphoric time of their honeymoon only days ago, they’d talked about blending their interests together. Nick had said he needed her intelligent brain and determined spirit by his side. She had countered by telling him she wanted his mathematical genius and charming ways working for her, too.
“Your business?” Managing to keep her voice even was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
“Sí.” The word was taut and tight, but he flashed her a wary look that told her he remembered their conversation in San Fran.
It gave her a small slice of hope. “I’ll be ready to leave tomorrow. I just want to organize the rest of Dad’s stuff here.”
His gaze followed her wave, landing on the piles of papers again. The blue of his eyes turned black. “You don’t need to do that at this moment. It can be done later.”
What was his problem? Jess supposed she could ask him once more, except he hadn’t answered any of her questions during the last few days, and she was too tired to pry. Best to let him simmer until they returned home. Once she had him in their Painted Lady, she’d identify what was wrong. “Why don’t you go ahead and order the plane for tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll order the plane for today.” Walking back to her, he startled her by reaching out and yanking her into his arms.
His spicy, wicked scent swirled around her, and it shocked her to realize it was mixed with the smell of sweat. “What is—”
Her question got cut off by his frantic kiss. His lips took hers in what she could only describe as a brutal taking, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. His tongue darted into her mouth, taking her some more, demanding with a desperate desire. Her heart lifted, fiercely glad he needed her, though her mind kept sweeping through the past few days and hours, trying to figure out what was going on with him.
“Jessie.” He pulled away from her, his eyes still raging, his olive skin pale. “Please come with me now, querida.”
Sighing, she gave up trying to reason with him. “All right.”
“Sí?” The blue lit to cerulean, and she finally identified the true emotion in his eyes.
Relief. Vast, profound relief.
What was going on?
“Let’s go.” He tugged her toward the door, and she let him. Let him escort her to the penthouse. Let him order the plane, let him help her pack.
“Our car is waiting downstairs.” He threw her one of his true smiles, the relief still apparent in his expression.
“I need to go to the bathroom, first.” Which was the truth. Not a stall so she could analyze this vague feeling that something was off, and she needed to stop and examine the situation before moving forward. Stepping away, she smiled at him too, her own relief shooting through her.
She had him back. Her husband. Everything would be fine.
And yet…
What was he so relieved about?
“I’ll go make sure the limo is out front and send up a bellman for our luggage.” One more of his smiles, and he left.
The air in the room turned cool, like the heat of his panic had left, too.
Panic.
That was what she’d seen.
Why was her husband in a panic?
Without thinking it through, she found herself drifting down the hallway, down the stairway, down into the bowels of her hotel. Back to her dad’s office. Back to the piles of papers she’d been sifting through.
She’d almost completed the sorting. Only a few more papers remained.
Nick. In a panic.
Because she’d been in here, in her father’s office. She knew it with such sudden certainty she caught her breath. And just as if her cunning, wily dad had come into the room himself to show her the true reality, she lifted the very next paper and read the words.
Read reality.
Nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with laughter and light and loving. Nothing to do
with her being a woman who could draw a man like Nick Townsend.
Let me show you my fantasy.
That’s what it had been. A pure fantasy she’d fallen for. Fallen for his whispered lies and deceiving caresses. Fallen for a man who played games for a living, and wouldn’t have gone near a woman like her in real life. Nick had weaved his fantasy around her, until she’d fallen into a stupor of love that was as fake as the man himself.
Jess straightened to her full height.
She wasn’t in a stupor anymore, and never would be again.
She read the words in the contract signed by her father and her husband once more. Placed them in her dead heart and sealed it in for life. Imprinted the terms into her intelligent brain so they’d never be forgotten.
Then, she dropped the paper on the desk and walked away.
Puto infierno.
Where was she?
Nick threw open the door of the limo and stepped into a pouring rain. The weather did nothing to cool his passionate hate for this island. Whipping out his cell, he punched her number and listened as it buzzed and buzzed. And buzzed.
“Open the trunk,” he ordered the driver.
The man swung around to stare at him, but obediently clicked a button. Striding to the back of the limo, he grimaced at what he saw.
His suitcases. Not hers.
He should never have let her leave his sight. But her quick trip to the bathroom hadn’t seemed like anything to worry about. When the bellman had come down with the suitcases, he hadn’t paid attention, too busy booking their flight and making plans for when they arrived in Las Vegas.
His instincts went from crazed to frantic.
Not since he’d been a wild kid on the streets of Las Vegas had he felt the danger so intensely. With a short word to the driver, he raced into the hotel’s grand foyer. Skipping the elevators, he tore up the stairs to the penthouse.
The door stood open. Maids scurried around the living room. He knew before he asked.
She was gone.
Confirming his fears with the maids, he tore back down the stairs to the waiting limo.