by Cynthia Eden
The guy looked good in black.
But she eased back. Her hand slid down his body until she was just touching his left hand. Then Jamie turned and began walking toward the bedroom. She kept her grip on his hand, tugging him lightly. She knew exactly what she wanted that night—and it wasn’t to spend more time pouring over articles about a monster from her past.
She wanted Davis.
So when they entered the bedroom, she started to strip. Her fingers didn’t tremble, and she met his gaze as she tossed aside her shirt, then her bra. She didn’t feel self-conscious at all as she stood before him. He didn’t mind her scars. She wasn’t even sure he saw them when he looked at her.
His eyes were darkening with desire. His breath coming a little rougher.
His desire was a heady thing. He made her feel beautiful. Powerful.
She pushed the jogging pants—and her underwear—down her legs. She stood before him, completely naked. Her breasts thrust toward him, her hands stayed loosely at her sides.
And his gaze raked over her. She could feel that hot gaze of his like a caress on her body. Stroking her. Teasing her. Turning her on.
She stepped toward him. Jamie put her hands on his chest. Her fingers slid down, and she pushed up his shirt so that she could touch his skin. So strong. She loved the ripple of his muscles beneath her fingers. She pushed the shirt higher and pressed a kiss to his chest. Then her lips feathered over his nipple. She licked. She—
“I thought about you every moment on the drive back from Houston.” His voice was a rough rumble. “I couldn’t get back to you fast enough. I needed to see you.” His hands locked around her hips. “Touch you.”
“You’re touching me now,” she whispered back. She wanted him to touch her more. To touch her everywhere.
Would it be as good this time? They’d been so frantic for each other before. Would it be the same way? Could it still be as good?
He kissed her. His tongue slid into her mouth even as he pulled her closer against him. His arousal pushed against her, heavy and hard.
“I want to touch you more,” he growled and then they were rushing back, moving in a tangle of limbs until they crashed on the bed. “I want you wild.”
She was on her way to being wild. Jamie didn’t even try to hold on to her control. She helped him, shoving away his clothing so that she could feel him, skin to skin. All of him.
He stroked her.
She kissed him.
He made her moan.
She slid down his body. Explored him with her hands and mouth, and she made him growl.
Her breath panted out as she straddled his hips. He was so big and strong, but she wasn’t afraid of Davis. Not even a little bit. Maybe she should have been afraid.
I’m not. Not of him. Never of him.
She helped him put on the protection. Then Jamie arched her hips, taking just the tip of his arousal into her. Sliding against him, rocking her hips, savoring the moment.
“Sweetheart, I need everything from you.”
He tumbled her back, and Jamie found him above her, caging her, surrounding her. He drove deep, filling her in one hard thrust, and her body arched into his. With every moment, the passion seemed to blaze hotter, the need twisted tighter, and she couldn’t hold anything back. She didn’t want to hold back. Her legs wrapped around his hips, and she slammed up to meet him, again and again. His hand pushed between their bodies, and he stroked her, right at the center of her desire.
Jamie didn’t just shudder in pleasure then. She exploded. She bit his shoulder, trying to muffle her scream because the climax was that good. Enough to make her go wild as she shuddered and gasped beneath him. A release that kept rolling through her, strong and hard and—
“You’re so beautiful...you feel so good...” He kissed her neck. Held her tighter. Thrust deeper. “Can’t...let...you...go...”
And he was with her. She could feel the jerk of his hips, and when he lifted his head, she saw the pleasure streaking across his face.
Better than last time. Stronger.
Hotter.
Sweat slickened their bodies. Her heart raced.
And she arched up to him again.
* * *
I CAN FEEL HIM, inside and out. He surrounds me.
Jamie stared up at the darkened ceiling. Her body was completely sated. She was pretty sure she’d be sore the next day, but she didn’t care. She felt good.
Happy.
There it was again, that sneaky emotion, creeping up on her.
She smiled, and her eyelids began to sag. It was good to be wrapped up in his arms. To have him close—
Her eyes flew open. “You should...you should go up to the main house.”
His fingers trailed over her shoulder. “Why? Do you want me to leave?”
“I...” No, she wanted him to stay. “I might have the dreams again.” Nightmares. She didn’t want to scream when he was near.
“If you do, I’ll be here.”
A lump rose in her throat.
“Dreams can’t hurt you.”
“They’re not just dreams.” If only. Nightmares were just whispers that faded when the darkness ended.
What happens when the darkness doesn’t end?
“I’ll be here,” he said again.
And she knew he wasn’t worried about nightmares or memories. She wasn’t sure if anything scared Davis McGuire.
So she let her eyes close. She’d warned him. And if he wanted to stay with her...
A faint smile curved her lips. Then she wanted to be with him.
Chapter Nine
Sullivan’s footsteps were swallowed by the lush carpeting as he headed into Westport Industries. As luck would have it—luck, or perfectly planned timing—Garrison Westport was just striding across the lobby.
“Ah, Garrison...” Sullivan called out. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”
Garrison—and his entourage of men in suits—turned at Sullivan’s call.
Sullivan smiled at them. He’d worn his own suit today, though he usually hated the things. But he’d wanted to fit in, or at least, get past security.
“Do I know you?” Garrison asked with a frown.
“You will,” Sullivan promised.
Garrison gave him a polite smile. “Why don’t you talk to my assistant? Oliver can schedule a sit-down for—”
“We share a mutual acquaintance,” Sullivan said. “Sean Nyle sent me.”
That polite smile froze on Garrison’s face.
“I just need a few moments of your time.” Sullivan pointed toward the elevator. “How about we go up and have a little one-on-one chat?” He offered the man his own polite smile, though he had been told his grin rather resembled a shark’s.
Garrison wiped his brow. Sweating already?
“Sir, I’ll take care of this man,” one of the suits said with authority. Ah, would that be Oliver? The assistant was aiming high.
But Garrison waved the younger man away. “I’ve got this. Yes, yes...” he said as he inclined his head toward Sullivan and hurried into the elevator. “Let’s have that little chat.”
Sullivan followed him.
When the suit—Oliver?—tried to follow, Sullivan put his hand on the man’s chest. “Sorry, I’m afraid this is a private meeting.” He pushed Oliver back. “Catch the next ride.”
The elevator doors closed on Oliver’s stunned face.
“I don’t know what Sean Nyle has told you,” Garrison snapped, “but I simply made a charitable donation to the boy’s college fund years ago because I appreciated his honesty and—”
Sighing, Sullivan leaned forward and pressed the button to stop the elevator.
“Wh-what are you doing?” There was a slight b
reak in Garrison’s otherwise pompous voice.
Sullivan crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face Garrison. “Exactly what I told you before. Having a private chat with you. Your suits are no doubt rushing upstairs, and I don’t want to deal with their crap. So I thought we’d just have our little chat right here.”
Garrison’s mouth was opening and closing, fishlike. For a moment, Sullivan just studied the older man. Garrison was in his early sixties, but his hair was still a dark brown. Only the faintest of wrinkles marked the man’s face. He could easily have passed for someone half his age.
He was fit, tall and currently...sweating. A lot.
But fear could do that to a man.
“Who are you?” Garrison demanded.
“I’m a man who knows what you’ve done.” Always make the suspect think you know more than you do. He’d learned that from an Austin police detective he’d once thought was a good friend. Too late, he’d learned that Shayne had betrayed him.
But that was another story. For another twisted day.
So much betrayal. How do you ever know who to really trust?
“I haven’t done anything,” Garrison blustered. “I haven’t—”
“You recently had a meeting with Sean Nyle in Houston, Texas. You paid him to tell you everything he knew about Jamie Bridgeton.” There was no point in beating around the bush. The guy already knew exactly where Jamie was, so mentioning her now wouldn’t make her any more or any less of a target.
Garrison’s eyelids flickered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sullivan rolled his eyes. “Do I look as if I want to hear your bull? You told him you were worried about her safety, and then you plunked down a big chunk of change to find out where she was.”
“That didn’t happen!”
Sullivan lifted one brow. “Maybe I should just call a reporter I know.” He didn’t know any reporters in Connecticut. “See what she thinks about the situation and the money trail you left behind when—”
“I had to stop the woman from harassing my family!”
Harassing them?
“I was worried she’d be a threat,” Garrison nodded. “So I had to find out where she was. Because if the harassment hadn’t stopped, I would have stopped her.”
The guy had just threatened Jamie...right in front of me. It was a good thing Sullivan had come for the little chat. He could only imagine how well Davis would have just taken that statement.
“The notes started coming to my home...packages that I knew she must have sent.” Garrison glared at Sullivan. “The past is dead. She needs to let it go.”
“What notes?”
“I won’t forget.” Garrison bit out the words. “Money doesn’t buy forgiveness.”
Interesting.
“The notes started coming to my house—with dead flowers, dead roses. I tracked the florist, and he told me that a blonde woman had ordered them. A blonde who paid in cash.”
“And you figured that blonde had to be Jamie. Cause there aren’t any other blonde women your son has terrorized.”
Garrison looked away.
Or are there more women? Hell.
“I wanted her to stop. I wanted her to leave me alone.”
There was something in the guy’s voice... “But then you found out Jamie was all the way down in Texas. When you learned that, you had to see she wasn’t the one who’d been sending you the notes.” If any notes had even been sent. Because he wasn’t buying the guy’s story. Not at all.
Garrison’s lips clamped shut.
“You flew back into town this morning,” Sullivan said. “Private flight...” Because he’d bribed the guy’s driver and gotten that information. “So I am very curious...just where have you been?” Down in Texas, making Jamie’s life hell?
It was sure looking like he’d been wrong about Jamie. Davis had been right, and he knew his brother wasn’t going to let him forget that anytime soon.
“None of your damn business.” Sullivan glared at him. “Start this elevator or I will have you arrested, I will—”
“Her home was torched. A hit-and-run driver slammed into her.” Slammed into my brother. “So you can see where I’d be a little curious. I mean, you knew where she was. You were in Texas a month ago, and now, these incidents have started to happen.”
For just a moment, fear flashed in Garrison’s eyes. “She’s...all right?”
“Where. Were. You?”
“Business trip. I had to go check on a factory down in New Orleans.”
“I can verify this, you know.”
Garrison’s gaze cut away from him. “Then verify it.”
“Where’s your son?”
Garrison actually backed up a step.
“According to his assistant, he’s here,” Sullivan continued. “Working hard. But...that’s not true, is it? Because I already checked today. From the look of things, Henry hasn’t been in to work for quite a while. The mail has certainly stacked up on his desk.”
“Leave my son alone!”
“Maybe your son should leave Jamie alone.”
Garrison swiped his forehead again. “It’s not what you think! He’s not— He’s not in Texas!”
“Then where is he?”
Garrison huffed out a hard breath. “You’re her friend? Her lover? She sent you here to threaten me—”
“I haven’t threatened you. I’ve asked you questions. The cops are involved in Texas. They’re investigating the attacks, and they will follow the trail right back to you.” The McGuires would make sure of it. “This time, he’s not a kid, and you won’t be able to buy your way out of the hell he’s made.”
“He didn’t do it!” Garrison’s cheeks flushed dark red. “He’s...he’s back in the clinic, all right? There was a break—after he found one of those notes that she sent. He started talking about her again. Got obsessed, all over again. Only Henry realized what was happening this time. He checked himself into that clinic. He’s getting help. So, no, he’s not down there, stalking her.” His hands were shaking as he straightened his suit. “He’s at Grace Meadows, trying to hold on to his sanity once again. That woman has always had a dark pull on him. She plays with his head, and she makes him do things—”
“You don’t even believe that crap, so stop spouting it.” Grace Meadows. He knew his next stop.
Garrison lunged forward and pushed the button to get the elevator moving again.
Sullivan just watched him. He’d learned what he needed, for the moment. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Garrison leaped out and yelled, “Security!”
Sullivan shook his head. “I’m already gone.” But he pointed toward Garrison. “Though I do think I’ll be seeing you again.”
Garrison paled.
The doors slid closed.
* * *
THE HOUSE WAS a total loss. Jamie stared at the charred remains of her home. She didn’t have any appointments until the afternoon, so she’d wanted to go and see her home.
What was left of it.
Davis had come with her. He’d warned her that it wasn’t going to be easy, and he was right. Seeing the house like that—gutted...
I can just start over. I can make a new home.
“Right. No, no, you tell me exactly what you find at Grace Meadows,” Davis said.
His words drew her gaze away from the blackened house—and the two lone walls that remained standing. Davis was on his phone, pacing a few feet away.
“Confirm it, Sully. See him for yourself. Yes, I’ll talk with you then.” He hung up and pushed the phone back into his pocket.
When he looked over at her, Jamie tensed. Sullivan is in Connecticut, but Henry isn’t. He’s out here, he’s—
“Sully just talked with Garri
son Westport. The man admitted to seeing Sean. To getting information on you.” His jaw clenched. “But so far, there’s no sign of Henry. According to his father, Henry checked himself into a psychiatric clinic called Grace Meadows. The family is keeping it quiet, but he’s supposedly been there for weeks.”
She rubbed her chilled arms and glanced around. “If he’s not there...”
Then Henry is here, watching me. Hunting me.
“Sullivan will know for certain soon. He’s on his way to the clinic now.”
She glanced back toward her house’s remains. Jinx had loved playing near the trees in the back.
“Jamie, have you had any kind of contact with the Westports? I mean, since you—”
“I haven’t spoken with them in eight years.” Not that she’d counted the days. “Not since I asked Garrison Westport what he thought would happen when Henry’s ‘therapy’ was over.”
Sean had just sold her out. Garrison had been so smug as he’d stared down at Jamie.
My son’s life won’t be ruined by a mistake.
She’d been confused...had she been the mistake? Had her brother’s death been the mistake?
“Counseling and medicine... I know they can work wonders,” Jamie said. “But I also know that Henry Westport told me that he’d never let me go. That he would find me. That he would never stop. And I believed what he said. I believed that when he got out, he would come after me.”
And he had.
She headed toward the trees. The man on the motorcycle had been hiding behind those trees that first night. If she’d come back alone, would she have been found the next day? Her ashes part of the charred wreckage that remained in the aftermath?
“I checked with the cops this morning,” Davis said as he followed behind her. “The car that hit us was stolen. They’re searching it for evidence now, but I’m not holding out much hope they’ll find anything we can use. When I saw that guy at the wreck, he was wearing black gloves.”
Yes, she remembered that. Black gloves and a ski mask. “I couldn’t see his eyes,” Jamie said as she stared into the woods.
“What?”
“It was too fast. I—I just had an impression of the black gloves, reaching out to me. The gloves and the ski mask. I didn’t even look at his eyes.” There would have been eye holes in the ski mask. “If I’d seen his eyes, I would have known for sure.” She turned toward him. “But it has to be Henry. No one else would want to do this to me. I—I haven’t gotten close to anyone.” Only to Davis. “I haven’t slipped up. No one would want to hurt me, no one—”