by Adrianne Lee
“I know.” She squeezed his forearm. His eyes cooled, but retained a warmth that came from deep within, that had the power to reach inside and touch her soul. A whisper of fire shimmied through Tia, electrified her, terrified her. She released him and stepped back with sudden self-consciousness.
Gingerly readjusting the cloth on her wound, she said, “I can’t imagine which of our suspects is responsible. I would swear they all believed you were Grant. I suppose that just means one of them is a really good actor.”
Mac thought about Gwen. “One of them wasn’t acting. She thought I was Grant”
“Nancy?”
“No.” He turned off the computer and moved away from the desk. “I want to get you to a hospital, but first we’d better call the police and report this break-in.”
She shook her head, instantly regretting it as the room began to whirl. “We can’t do that, Mac. We need to lock this office and get out of here. Let Grant’s staff discover the burglary.”
“What?” He was incredulous, obviously recalling her insistence last night that he call the cops and tell them about Grant.
Tia took his hand, shutting her heart to the instant unspoken connection she felt. “If we talk to the police, we’ll have to explain our suspicions. Without proof, we’ll sound like we’re doing something dishonest.”
“You don’t know that.”
“True, but if by some remote chance the police do believe us, they’ll stop your launch with their own investigation so fast your head will spin.”
Mac considered this. He narrowed his eyes. “I think that’s what the killer is counting on.”
“Exactly.” Another thought struck her, chilling her. “Oh, my God, Mac. Even if we don’t report the break-in, as Grant, you’ll be required to show up here as soon as the police are called in.”
His eyes widened with understanding. “So either way, Grant’s killer diverts my attention from the launch and I’m defeated.”
He looked beaten, but she realized it was fatigue and stress more than anything. Mac Coy was a fighter. He wouldn’t go down without one hell of a struggle.
Tia released a heavy breath. “Well, we’ll just have to show our opponent we aren’t that easily done in.”
He nodded, giving her a wry smile, then leaned over and righted the file cabinets. She rushed to help him replace the spilled files. Within fifteen minutes they had Grant’s office looking presentable, undisturbed. As long as no one dug too closely into the files or the desk drawers for a few days, there would be no alarm raised.
They shut off the light and closed Grant’s door. The door to the operative’s office stood ajar, another reminder of the intruder. Mac peeked inside. All seemed in order. He pulled the door closed, then caught Tia by the arm. Putting Grant’s office to rights seemed to have drained the last of her energy. Her lush mouth was pinched at the corners, and her eyes had dark smudges beneath them. She looked as though her head was pounding worse than his own.
“It’s time we had that cut examined.” Mac managed to keep the worry out of his voice as he led her to the reception area. She wasn’t bleeding anymore, but as sleepy as she appeared, he worried she had a concussion. Dammit, he shouldn’t have dragged her into this mess. “One more thing.”
He sat Tia in a leather chair, then grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk, wiped the blood off the silver star and put it back on the tree. He gave the office one last glance. Satisfied, he helped Tia to her feet, then locked the door.
Tia leaned on him. Moving haltingly, like drunken lovers, he helped her into the elevator. She didn’t pull away, just nestled against him as though she belonged there. Mac dismissed the fanciful thought, but he couldn’t dismiss the longing, the yearning. Would he ever find a woman to call his own, someone who wanted the real Mac Coy, not some imitation of his brother?
The lobby was eerily quiet as they emerged from the elevator. His every muscle tensed, alert to danger. The dim lights threw ominous shadows in all directions. He hastened Tia to the outside door. It was unlocked.
His heart climbed his throat. Was the burglar lurking just outside? With perhaps a gun? Had he or she done something to the Porsche? A pulse pounded at his temple. He secured the main office door. “Stay here a moment.”
Tia huddled under the portico, out of the downpour, looking small and vulnerable and needy. If only she needed him. Mac squashed the thought. She needed Grant, and he couldn’t give her that. He rushed to the Porsche. Rain fell in heavy sheets, soaking the Armani suit. He unlocked the car and found a flashlight. First he scanned the shrubs surrounding the parking lot. But no one appeared to be hiding there. Next, as best he could, he checked the Porsche for anything that looked amiss. Finding nothing, he motioned for Tia to join him. “Okay. It’s safe.”
Once they were tucked in the car cruising down the freeway, Tia asked, “Where are we going?”
“Valley General.”
“And after that?”
“Back to Grant’s to sleep.”
“But we need to go to the plant and collect the personnel files.”
“We can do that first thing in the morning.”
“What if our burglar beats us to it?”
“If he or she wanted those personnel files, they will already be missing.”
“Oh,” she moaned softly. “That will really tick me off.”
He chuckled. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if they are gone, we’ll find another way. I’ll be damned if the person who killed my brother is going to get away with it. Whichever of my trusted six betrayed me and murdered Grant will pay for it in spades.”
MAC DROVE STRAIGHT to Valley General and helped Tia into the emergency room. Her wound was cleaned and tended. The gash required four stitches. The doctor diagnosed a slight concussion, recommended Tylenol and prescribed bed rest.
Mac drove her to Grant’s condo and retrieved her bag from the back seat. He scanned the parking area, then hurried Tia up the walk. A creeping sensation of being watched made him move faster than normal. The cheery wreath on the door played “Silent Night” as they approached, resounding with bold clarity, drawing attention to them, adding to his jitters.
Quickly he worked the security pad, grateful Grant had installed a state-of-the-art alarm system here. If nothing else they could sleep without worry of being attacked in their beds.
The condo was chilly, but the air held the sweet scent of fresh pine. He made a mental note to water the Christmas tree and raised the thermostat. In his concern for Tia, he had hardly noticed his own discomfort. But now his damp clothes felt clammy against his fatigued flesh. He wanted nothing more than to strip and stand beneath a hot shower for ten minutes. But if he felt this bad, Tia must feel worse. “Why don’t you take a hot bath before bed?”
She was shivering. “I don’t think I have the strength.”
He found her a towel, then carried her bag to the bedroom. “Go get into a robe and I’ll run the water for you. It will ease the chill from your bones and you’ll sleep better.”
She nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
He took a towel of his own and peeled off the ruined suit coat, then the shirt and tie. As steamy water filled the tub, he buffed his hair, then his upper body with the soft terry cloth. The events of the past forty-eight hours had his head feeling like he’d been hit with the silver star.
Tia appeared in the doorway in a soft pink robe and fuzzy slippers. Her hair was pinned up off her neck. She looked innocent and vulnerable, beautiful and touchable. He swallowed the urge to reach out and caress that milky spot in the hollow of her neck. His body ached from fatigue and stress, and a need that would not be fulfilled.
He excused himself and left her to the bathroom. In Grant’s room he exchanged his damp slacks for sweats. Tia’s discarded clothes lay on the carpet, feminine undergarments, all lacy and red, topping the heap like a cherry on an ice-cream sundae. His male imagination revved into high gear, running wild and free, sending hot jabs of desire straight to hi
s groin.
He groaned softly and forced himself to move. He found a blanket and pillow in the linen closet and made himself a bed on the sofa. It was wide and deepcushioned, long enough for him to sleep comfortably on most nights. As tired as he was tonight, it would feel like a feather bed.
He plopped down on it, figuring he’d warm up and drift right off to sleep, but his mind betrayed him, conjuring up one fantasy after another about the woman bathing down the hall. He got up, checked all the windows and doors.
Tia emerged from the bathroom, looking once more like the angel on top of Grant’s tree. He squashed the images that threatened to overwhelm him again, even as her delicate scent assaulted his resolve. “The condo is locked up tight and the alarm’s activated. So you can sleep without worry.”
“I think I will.” She yawned, covering her mouth as though embarrassed by this natural act. He found it alluring. Distracting. Enticing.
“I’ll see you in the morning, then.” His voice was raspy. “I want to get to the plant early.”
He waited until she closed the bedroom door, then headed into the shower. Standing under the hot water, all he could think of was climbing into that bed with Tia. He turned the spigot to cold. Half an hour later he was on the sofa, deep in a hard, dreamless slumber.
He had no idea how long he slept before her scream woke him.
TIA TRIED TO SCREAM again. Again no sound emitted from her rounded lips. Terror ripped through her. He had her, gripping her upper arms in his painful grasp. She wrenched this way and that. But she couldn’t break free.
“Tia. Tia, wake up.”
Tia came awake slowly as though she was buried under layers of gauze. She could still feel his grip on her arms. Why? Her eyes felt gummy, pasted shut. She pried them open. No monster from her past, just the sweet face of Mac Coy.
His arresting features were fixed in a mask of fear. “It was a nightmare, baby. That’s all. You’re okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Oh, how she wanted to believe him.
He pulled her against his bare chest. She was so glad for the solace, so hungry for it, she nuzzled her cheek to his naked flesh, her ear nestled against his sternum. His heart beat fast, as though he’d been as frightened as she. Which was impossible. He couldn’t know the horror of her dream.
Mac rubbed her back through the T-shirt she slept in, his fingers moving in gentle, soothing strokes. “It’ll be okay.”
She wanted to believe him, but he didn’t have all the facts. His assurances were well meant. And appreciated. But her nightmares weren’t dreams. They were reality in the world of Tia Larken.
As the quiet moments passed, neither she nor Mac trying to separate, Tia realized her pulse was gradually humming faster, her fears, her anxiety diluting into something sweet and pure and forbidden. She felt it in the pressure of Mac’s fingertips on her back, in the thrum of his heart against her ear, in the blood rushing through her veins with sizzle and promise.
She lifted her head and found him gazing down at her. His turquoise eyes were three shades darker, need standing bold and fresh in their depths. She reached a finger to trace his mouth, to touch his cleft chin. There was something so innocent about this man, something so unlike his twin, it erased the similarities. She didn’t look at Mac and see Grant. She saw only Mac, as though she’d known his brother in some distant lifetime, a long-forgotten childhood.
Mac lowered his mouth to hers. She didn’t pull back but strained her neck, raising her mouth to meet his. The kiss sent ribbons of passion floating through her, soft and silken, heating her blood with scintillating bliss. He moved hesitantly, as though he wasn’t sure of himself…or of her. She twisted in his arms, put her hands behind his neck and pulled him closer, letting him know she wanted this as much as he did.
More.
He moaned, a low hungry growl of pleasure, and wrapped his arms around her like a man overcome, like a beggar presented with a million dollars, a chocoholic locked in a candy factory. He deepened the kiss with unexpected speed. His tongue danced with hers, partners in a tango as old as time itself, each stroke in unison, each dip and plunge in step, teasing, tantalizing, erotic.
Heat coursed through her veins, pooled in her belly and lower. She knew she should stop this now, before it went any further, before Mac lost himself in this wild passion. He would regret it. But his hand was moving over her back again, sending her senses packing. Her body ignored her will, giving itself over to the feel of his hands slipping beneath her shirt, feathering up her sides, then finding her taut nipples.
Pleasure dragged his name from her parted lips. “Oh, Mac. Oh, Mac.”
He tensed as though she’d called him some other name, as though she’d called him…Grant. He pulled his hands from beneath her shirt, setting her away from him. He was breathless, his eyes glazed with desire, his face flushed from their kisses. But his expression was edged with alarm. She half expected to see guilt or some form of confusion, but she saw something else. Fear.
Was he afraid of her? Or of himself?
“I can’t do this.” He struggled up and off the bed. His plaintive cry might have meant he was impotent and therefore incapable of actually making love with her. But she’d felt his need for her the second she’d pressed her body full to his. He wasn’t a man physically incapable of sex. His reticence had to be emotional.
It must be her he didn’t want. The old hurt slashed through her, tearing her heart apart, leaving a gaping wound that couldn’t be repaired with stitches. That would never heal. How could she have let this happen? Why, despite all wisdom to the contrary, had she even dared hope Mac would want her?
Her throat thickened with tears. She understood without his telling her that Grant stood between them. He would always be between them. She hugged her knees to her chest. She could barely breathe for need of Mac. Barely make her pulse slow down. But as much as she wanted his love, she was glad Mac had instinctively known she was wrong for him. Loving her would only mess up his whole life.
Even so, at this moment, she feared loneliness most of all. “Mac, please, don’t leave. Would you…could you stay and just…just hold me until I fall asleep again?”
He looked as though she’d asked him to plunge a knife into his heart. For a heavy moment he stared at her, a man torn between running for his life and staying to help a woman he cared deeply for. She didn’t want to play on his sympathies. Whatever desire he felt for her was likely just a confused bonding because of their grief over Grant. Theirs was a complicated relationship. And in five days it would end. They would go their separate ways.
She would survive. He would be better off with Tia Larken out of his life. But right now, at this moment, she needed him—and he needed her, too. What was wrong with that? What was wrong with their holding on to each other, making these next few days easier for each other?
“I…I’m sorry.” He looked distraught, distressed. “I can’t.”
MAC STOOD ON THE DECK staring out at the black beneath that was Lake Washington. The rain had stopped. The steady dripping of a downspout was the only noise in the silence of the early morning. He breathed in the crisp, fresh air, felt it embracing his fevered flesh, cooling his ardor.
“Ah, Grant,” he said with regret and sorrow clogging his throat. Would he ever feel whole again without his twin? His chest squeezed with pain. There were so many things he wanted to ask Grant. So many things he was finding out that made no sense, that made him question how well he’d known his brother.
He rubbed his bristled jaw. At least he no longer felt the heavy disloyalty over Tia he’d suffered twenty-four hours ago—not since learning about Grant and Gwen.
But that didn’t give him the right to force his affections on Tia. He’d only meant to comfort her. But he was weak in every way a man could be. He’d taken advantage of the situation. He hated himself for that. He’d heard that people often make love in the wake of grief. Heard it was some sort of affirmation of life. He supposed that
explained Tia’s participation.
But he’d had no such noble thoughts. He’d wanted her, plain and simple. Wanted her so badly still, he couldn’t bring himself to walk back into the condo.
God, he was a fool. If he hadn’t called a halt to it when he had, he wouldn’t have been able to stop. How could he even consider making love to Tia in Grant’s bed? A bed the two of them had shared on numerous occasions? Ardor released its fierce grip on him.
How could he even consider making love to Tia after his miserable experiences? The thought of those other women, his too-quick responses, stripped the last of the heat from his blood. What if that had happened with Tia? He shuddered. He couldn’t bear it if he’d embarrassed himself with the only woman he’d ever loved. He couldn’t bear it if Tia laughed at him.
He moved back inside, locking the glass door behind him. He settled on the sofa. Half an hour later he was still wide awake. He gathered his blanket and pillow and walked to Grant’s bedroom. The door stood ajar. He called Tia’s name softly. No answer.
He stepped into the room. Her gentle, even breathing told him she was asleep. As gingerly as possible, he placed his pillow next to hers, stretched his blanket over the spread and lay down beside her, draping an arm around her waist.
She sighed contentedly as though comforted by his presence even as she slept. He feared this was a dangerous mistake, doubted he’d be able to fall back to sleep, guessed he’d be back on the deck in minutes. But for some reason just touching Tia, even through the barrier of the blankets, calmed his worries, sweetened his thoughts and eased him into dreamland.
THE AROMA OF FRESH COFFEE and the absence of the reassuring pressure she’d felt throughout the night awakened Tia. It was still dark in Grant’s bedroom. She struggled upright, stretching, and switched on the bedside lamp. Four-thirty. When Mac said he wanted to be at the plant early, he wasn’t kidding.