When Jamie kissed her, she opened her mouth and thrust her tongue inside his parted lips. And all the while she thought about thrusting that hot poker up inside him.
Chapter 9
“Mm-mmm,” Jazzy sighed as she placed her empty dish over Caleb’s on the coffee table. “Those were the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever eaten.” She looked over at him. He held his second cup of decaf coffee to his lips. “Tell me, Master Chef, what is your secret?”
Caleb downed the last drops of coffee and set his cup on top of their stacked plates. “If I told you my secret to perfect scrambled eggs, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it?”
She cuddled into the softness of her fat old sofa, sighed contentedly, and smiled at him. “Thanks.”
“For what? All I did was fix you breakfast at two o’clock in the morning.”
Jazzy loved his smile. A cocky, self-confident, closedmouth smile that hinted of danger and mystery. He wasn’t as pretty as Jamie, but he was far more appealing in every way. Damn! Why was she falling into that same old trap—comparing every man who came into her life with Jamie? Ah, Jasmine, my dear, don’t you realize what a breakthrough you’ve made? You’ve actually found someone who appeals to you more than Jamie Upton.
Jazzy laughed, the warm, carefree feeling spreading through her body rapidly. “You’ve done more than just fix me breakfast. You’ve pampered me, which is something I’m not used to. And I think you’ve forgiven me, too, haven’t you?”
Caleb reached over from where he sat on the opposite end of the sofa and brushed toast crumbs from the side of Jazzy’s mouth. Without thinking, she ran the tip of her tongue around the inside of her lips and accidently licked Caleb’s index finger. Their gazes met and held for an endless moment.
“I was wrong to judge you. It’s not as if I’ve lived a spotless life. What you did or didn’t do with Jamie Upton last night wasn’t any of my business.”
Jazzy grabbed Caleb’s hand just as he pulled it away. “I didn’t have sex with Jamie last night. I haven’t had sex with him since he returned home in January. I haven’t been with another man since I’ve known you.”
“Am I supposed to read some significance into that statement?”
“Maybe one has nothing to do with the other. Maybe it does. I honestly don’t know.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better how?”
“Jamie is getting married in three weeks. We said our good-byes last night.”
“You’ve said good-bye to him before and—”
Jazzy drew Caleb’s hand up to her face and pressed it against her cheek. “Jamie isn’t the man I want.” She paused, garnered up her courage and said, “You are.”
He jerked his hand away and stared at her. “Don’t play games with me. I’m not the kind of guy who’s willing to be second best. And I don’t share. If you’re mine, you’re mine alone. Whether it’s for a night or a week or a month. Understand?”
Jazzy huffed. “Why did I know you’d be this way, all old-fashioned macho possessive?”
“Let’s lay our cards on the table, so we’ll both know where we stand.”
She nodded.
“I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you,” he told her. “I want you now more than ever. But there are things about myself that I haven’t told you. Things I won’t tell you unless…” He clicked his tongue. “Let’s just say I don’t make promises to anyone that I don’t keep. Do I want to fuck you? Hell, yes. Do I care about you? Yeah, I do. Will I make a lifelong commitment to you if we have sex? Not necessarily. But when I’m with you, I’m with you exclusively. And I expect the same from you. No lies. No games. And I swear I’ll never hurt you.”
Emotion caught in her throat. Tears stung her eyes. Jazzy glanced away, not wanting to face him until she was totally in control. She swallowed a couple of times, took a deep breath, and turned back around. Why couldn’t she have met Caleb when she was sixteen? Why couldn’t he have been her first love? If he’d gotten her pregnant, he would have married her. And if anyone—his parents or grandparents—had objected, he would have told them to go straight to hell.
“I want you, too,” Jazzy admitted. “Since that first night. You’ll never know how difficult it was for me not to…well, not to use you. And if I’m honest about it, I’ve been protecting myself, too. I’ve been hurt and disappointed so many times. I’ve believed promise after promise. But no more! I like you, Caleb McCord. I like you a lot. But I’m not ready to make a commitment to anyone. What I want—what I need—is for us to just take things one day…one night…at a time. Get to know each other. See if we really work well together. Don’t push each other. Just let things happen naturally, on their own. If it works, we’ll take the next step. If it doesn’t, we’ll part friends, with no hard feelings. No one hurt.”
He studied her as if he were trying to gauge her honesty. “It would seem that we want the same thing.”
“Yeah, it would seem so.”
Caleb scooted closer. Jazzy held her breath. She’d been wanting another one of his devastating kisses. He slid his hand behind her neck and grasped gently, then pulled her forward, just enough to brush his lips against hers. Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted more. So much more.
He played with her lips, featherlight kisses at first. Then he used his tongue to paint a moist oval over her mouth. She sucked in her breath. His fingers reached up and splayed apart, forking through her short hair to cup her head. She sighed. And then he kissed her, really kissed her, curling her toes and making her heart pound faster.
This guy is a master at the art of kissing, she thought, and then ceased to think coherently.
When her breasts were tight and aching, her femininity clenching and unclenching in preparation, and he’d completely taken her breath away, he ended the kiss and lifted his head. She opened her eyes and stared into his whiskey-gold eyes. Puzzled that he’d stopped just as they were getting warmed up, she opened her mouth to ask him what was going on.
He laid his index finger across her lips. “This was our first date. You don’t go to bed with a guy on a first date, remember?”
“Mm-hmm, I remember.” Why the hell had she ever told him that? Even if it was the truth, somehow that rule just didn’t apply to Caleb. He was different—not only different from Jamie, but different from every other man she’d ever known. Well, maybe he was a little like Jacob, who was one of the best men in the world. But there were no sexual sparks between her and Jacob. And there were enough sparks between her and Caleb to set off a major explosion.
“I’ll clean up these dishes, then I’ll leave.” When Caleb stood, he did nothing to try to hide the fact that he had a magnificent erection.
“You’re leaving?” Just like that, he was going away when they were both aroused and needing relief in the worst way?
“I’ll be back,” he told her as he gathered up their dirty dishes. “You need some rest and so do I. It’s”—he glanced at the clock on the end table—“three-fifteen. How about I come by this afternoon around two-thirty? It’s Sunday. My only day off. Let Tiffany take over at Jasmine’s. We’ll drive over to Gatlinburg, meander around through all the little shops, and then eat supper at one of the nice restaurants.”
“I see you’ve planned our second date.” She rose from the sofa and followed him into the kitchen. He put the dishes into the soapy water where he’d cleaned the cooking utensils earlier. “Just leave them. I’ll do them in the morning.”
He nodded and turned to go, but she blocked his path.
Caleb grinned at her. “What?”
“You’re a nice man, Caleb McCord.”
He laughed. “You think so, do you? Just goes to show how much you don’t know about me.”
She stepped aside, allowing him to make his way to her front door. She followed behind him. “Okay, so maybe nice was the wrong word. You’re a good man.” When he glanced over his shoulder and frowned mockingly, she made one final correction to her original
statement. “You’re a man with a good heart.”
He winked at her, then walked out and down the exterior stairs that led to the sidewalk. Jazzy stepped out onto the narrow stoop at the top of the stairs and watched him walk toward his car. As soon as he got in and drove off, she closed and locked the door, then danced back into the living room. She hugged herself and sighed.
She had a second date with Caleb tomorrow. An honest-to-goodness date.
Feeling an unfamiliar sense of happiness, Jazzy hummed softly to herself as she headed for her bedroom. Tonight she would dream of Caleb. And maybe tomorrow—no, later today—that dream might come true.
Andrea Willis couldn’t sleep. She had tossed and turned for hours, but she had too much on her mind to relax. Besides, Cecil was snoring like a freight train. So like a man to be able to sleep soundly when his daughter was on the verge of making the biggest mistake of her life. It wasn’t that his concern didn’t run as deep as hers. It did. After all, he loved Laura in a way Andrea had never been able to, somehow able to overlook all her inadequacies.
When she had first suggested psychiatric help for Laura when she was twelve, Cecil had been livid, accusing her of wanting to find fault with Laura, of loving her less than she did Sheridan. But it was because she did love Laura that she’d wanted help for the child. Finally she’d been able to bring Cecil around to her way of thinking, but only after that terrible incident with the Roberts boy. He claimed she had tried to run over him with her car—her sixteenth birthday present. Laura had been unable to remember what happened that night.
After slipping into her house shoes and satin robe, Andrea crept out of the guest room and down the hall to the room their daughters were sharing this weekend. When she reached the closed door, she paused for a few moments, considering whether she should disturb them at this hour of the morning. Yes, she definitely shouldn’t wait to talk to Laura. And if she woke Sheridan in the process, so be it. Maybe Sheridan could help her talk sense to Laura.
Andrea tapped on the door. No response. She tapped again. Still nothing. She didn’t dare knock any louder for fear of waking Cecil, who was only a couple of doors down. The Upton family’s quarters were in the other wing of the house, so no chance of bothering them. She tried the handle and found the door unlocked. She opened the door and walked into the dark room.
“Laura,” she called as she tiptoed toward the bed where her elder daughter slept. “Laura, wake up, dear.”
No answer.
When she reached the bed, she realized why no one had responded. The bed was empty. She glanced at the other twin bed. It, too, was empty. Andrea turned on a bedside lamp and searched the bedroom and adjoining bath. Where were her daughters? Don’t panic, she told herself. There is a perfectly good explanation for why neither of them are here.
Wasn’t it possible, even probable, that Laura was in Jamie’s room, in his bed? Yes, of course, where else would she be? And Sheridan? God only knew where that wild young thing was. She was probably in some man’s bed, too. Some fellow she’d met in town, some stranger.
Andrea shivered. Sheridan had the morals of an alley cat, but she could hardly condemn her. After all, she’d had an adventurous streak when she’d been that age.
Andrea left the room and made her way back to her own bedroom. Cecil was still snoring. She went into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the light. After rummaging through her cosmetic bag, she found her prescription of sleeping pills. She averaged taking the medicine a couple of times a week lately. Not exactly addicted, but she was on the verge of becoming dependent on them. She popped the pill into her mouth, downed it with a small cup of water, then went back to bed. In about an hour, the medication would take effect and she would rest. Only when she slept could she stop worrying about Laura.
Jim Upton made his way down the backstairs at five o’clock. He had slept fairly well the first part of the night, but when he awoke around four, he’d started thinking about Erin. About how much he wished he was in bed with her. About how much he loved her. About how desperately he wished he could ask Reba for a divorce. But how did you ask a decent, caring woman who’d been your wife for over fifty years to give you a divorce? Reba had turned a blind eye to his indiscretions over the years, and God knew there had been quite a few. But he hadn’t been in love before—not since he’d been a green boy and madly in love with Melva Mae Nelson, who had broken his heart when she’d married another man. He’d taken his parents’ advice and married a suitable young woman from a good family, and although they’d shared a reasonably good life, Jim had never been truly happy. Not until this past year when a woman twenty-five years his junior had come into his life.
What the hell a gorgeous woman like Erin Mercer saw in him he’d never know. She didn’t need his money, because she was rich in her own right. She had brought joy and excitement and sex back into his life. She had become everything to him, and he knew he couldn’t go on this way, living a lie with Reba, when he wanted a life with Erin. At his age, he might not have more than a few good years left, and he wanted to spend that time with a woman who made him feel like a man.
When Jim entered his study, he left the overhead lights off and felt his way across the dark room until he reached his desk. He flipped on the banker’s lamp and lifted the telephone receiver. He dialed her number and waited. The phone rang and rang and rang. Then the answering machine picked up.
“Erin, please answer the phone, sweetheart,” Jim said. “We need to talk.” He had come to a decision that would greatly affect both their lives. He waited, but she didn’t answer.
He hung up, then dialed again and found himself repeating the procedure. He left a second message.
Why won’t she answer? Maybe she’s sick. Maybe something’s wrong. Or maybe she isn’t at home. But if she’s not there, where is she? Could she be with another man? Damn! Don’t think like that. She’s not with another man. Erin loves you. Only you.
Jim all but ran back upstairs and into his room. He and Reba hadn’t shared a room in years, so he didn’t have to worry about disturbing her as he removed his robe and pajamas and dressed hurriedly. It had taken him months to come to this decision, and he couldn’t wait another minute to tell Erin that he was going to ask Reba for a divorce. More than anything, he wanted to marry Erin.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up outside Erin’s cabin. The porch light was on, but the house was dark. Then he noticed that her car wasn’t parked at the side of the cabin. She wasn’t here. Where the hell was she? He could try her cell phone, but since she seldom kept the damn thing on, he doubted he could reach her that way.
Should he stay and wait on her or just go home and try calling her later? Go home, you old fool. Go home to your wife and wait for your mistress to explain why she was out all night. Cursing loudly, Jim stomped across the yard and got back in his car.
Blood. Blood everywhere. Bright red. Fresh. It coated the wooden floor and dripped into the cracks. His body had been mutilated, sliced and diced and burned. His eyes rolled back in his head as he wept in agony. His throat was hoarse from screaming and begging. She brandished the hot poker over him. And then when he opened his mouth to plead, she rammed the fiery metal stick into his mouth. As indescribable pain silenced him, he passed out.
Genny screamed and screamed and screamed.
“Wake up, honey,” Dallas pleaded with her as he held her securely in his arms.
Although he’d seen this happen to her before—too many times to suit him—he didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. When they first met, he’d been a skeptic, the biggest skeptic of all time. But Genny had made a believer out of him. He figured it was fate’s way of getting a good laugh at his expense. What could be more ironic than to have a guy who believed in nothing beyond his five senses to fall head over heels in love with a genuine psychic?
Genny’s eyelids fluttered as Dallas rubbed her back tenderly and kissed her temple. “That’s it, Genny, come back to me. Come out of the dark fog
. You’re safe. I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you.”
She moaned deeply. Her eyes opened, then closed, then opened again. She gazed at Dallas. He could tell her mind was fuzzy, that a part of her consciousness hadn’t returned from the other world she’d visited, from the mystical place that more than once had threatened to trap her and keep her there.
“It was bad, wasn’t it?” he said in a matter-of-fact way.
She nodded. “It was horrible.”
“Tell me about it.” He had learned that it was essential for Genny to share her visions, that she never had a vision they dared ignore.
She cuddled closer, burrowing her small body against him. “The vision was about Jamie again. Very similar to the first one, but…but more graphic.” Reaching up to clutch Dallas’s naked shoulders, she looked him in the eyes. “I can’t be certain, but I believe either he’s being tortured right now or he will be very soon. Within the hour.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw him naked. His body mutilated. She—she…oh, God, Dallas, she rammed a hot poker into his mouth!” Genny fell apart then, tears filling her eyes as she trembled uncontrollably.
He hated it when these damn visions ripped her apart. Despite loving her and being there for her, there was only so much he could do. Sometimes he wished he could take away her powers so that she’d never have another vision, but he realized how selfish that would be and that without her special gift of sight, she wouldn’t be his Genny.
He held her tight and let her cry. Often simply holding her was all he could do.
Several minutes later, she lifted her tear-stained face. “We have to do something—you and Jacob and I,” she said. “Jamie is in a house, an old and deserted house. I sensed that he and the woman were alone and they’re here in the mountains somewhere, so that means it’s Jacob’s jurisdiction. Call him. Call him now!”
“I’ll call him, if you promise to lie down and rest.”
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