"Your phone number? Yes, I'm sure it is unlisted. But I found it in with something Al sent me, just before his … accident. I was so upset by his death, I'd forgotten about it until just recently, and then, well, I was shocked at what I found when I opened it, to say the least."
As Chandra watched, a cold, satisfied smile curved Linc's mouth.
"Yes, I thought you might be interested. I certainly was. Especially since Al told me not to do anything with it unless something happened to him. Makes that whole … accident look a little different, doesn't it?"
Chandra bit her lip again. It was so hard for her to conceive of someone playing with Daniel like this, of someone tossing out the bait and just reeling him in. Yet Linc seemed to be doing it, and easily. As if Daniel were no more than a fish to be played.
"Well, it would be foolish of me to just tell you what it is, wouldn't it? Especially since Al's instructions were to go to the police with it. I haven't, of course. Yet."
There was a moment of silence, then Linc smiled that same, cold smile. His gaze shifted to her, the smile became a genuine one, and as if he knew her previous thoughts, he curved a forefinger into the side of his mouth and tugged, in a perfect pantomime of a hooked fish.
"I don't know, Mr. Lansing. I mean, Al wanted me to go to the police…" There was a pause, then Linc drawled, "Of course, I'm always open to a deal. I mean, times are tough." Another pause, and that smile flitting around the corners of his mouth again. "What's anything worth except what somebody's willing to pay for it, Mr. Lansing? I think that's something we should discuss in person, don't you?"
Chandra felt another shudder begin, and wrapped her arms around herself to try and stop it. She wished she had never agreed to go along with this. Of course, she hadn't, not really, she had just let herself be swept along with the forcible tide that was Linc's determination. She should have just done what she'd wanted to in the first place, just gone away and never come back. But when had she ever had the gumption to stand up and do what she should? Or even what she wanted?
She didn't even have the nerve to go after the man who'd tried to have her killed. No, she was leaving it to Linc, while she cowered in fear, as if somehow Daniel could tell that she was there, that she, not the murdered Al, had fed him information.
"That's it."
Linc's words, sharp with satisfaction as he hung up the microphone, snapped her out of her glum reverie. She focused on him, seeing that satisfaction etched in the strong lines of his face.
"I … I'm sorry, I … didn't hear." She hadn't heard a thing since that old, familiar fear had taken her over. "What happened?"
"He bit. Hook, line and halyard. I meet him at midnight." Chandra's eyes widened. "Yeah, I know, corny, but it was the best I could do."
"No, I just meant so soon? It's nearly eight now."
"I pushed for it. I don't want him to have too much time to prepare, or wonder where this friend of Al's suddenly popped up from. Or why."
Chandra felt another shudder beginning, and tried desperately to suppress it; she didn't want Linc to see how utterly terrified she was.
"Wh—" She swallowed and tried again. "Where?"
For the first time Linc looked uncomfortable. "Well, I tried for neutral ground, but he wasn't having any. I had to agree, or I would have lost him."
That sick feeling of terror welled up inside her again; she couldn't stop it this time. "Where?" she repeated shakily.
Linc sighed. "The house."
Chandra gasped. "The house?"
He nodded. "He wanted his home ground. I'm not sure why. Does he have any on-premise security guards?"
"No," she answered, still stunned at the thought of Linc going into Daniel's domain. "Just an elaborate alarm system."
"Fences?"
"Only in the back. Linc—"
"Any dogs?"
"No. Linc—"
"Good. That makes it easier."
"Linc, stop! You can't do this! Please, let's call it all off. It's too dangerous. Just let me slip away somewhere. Let it rest, and you stay away from him."
"And let him get away with all he's done?"
"I know, it's awful, but please! He killed Al, he tried to kill me, and he'll kill you, too—"
"I think he'll find me a little harder to murder," Linc said grimly.
"Oh, God," she moaned, "I know you're tough, and you're trained, but Daniel … Daniel's evil, Linc. Please, don't do this."
"I have to, Channie. And so do you. You have to face this, face him, before you can get on with living. If you don't, it will be hanging over you for the rest of your life."
She didn't bother to hide the shudder. Nor could she deny the certainty that rose in her then, that if something went wrong—or went Daniel's way, as things always did—what would be hanging over her for the rest of her life would be Linc's death. And even after all she'd been through, she knew she could never survive that.
"I can't," she whispered.
"You can," Linc returned, coming to crouch before her as she huddled on the settee.
"You don't understand. I can't stand up to Daniel. He'll win. He always wins."
"Because everyone lets him win. Because they're afraid of him."
"Yes!" It broke from her involuntarily. "Yes, I'm afraid of him. I'll always be afraid of him. I can't change it. I can't change me. I'm not strong enough."
Linc reached out and covered her trembling hands with his. "You don't have to change you, Channie. You're already stronger than you realize. So much stronger."
The warmth of his hands flooded her, making her feel her own chill even more. He could warm her to the core, she knew that instinctively. But why should he want to? Why would a man like Lincoln Reese want a doormat of a woman, when he could take his pick of the women in the world who could match his nerve and strength?
"I'm not strong," Chandra said. It came out on a gasping breath, and even through her fear it sounded sniveling to her. "God, Linc, can't you see? I even sound … like he always said. A whiner. I was always whining, he used to say, asking him all these questions because I was too dumb to figure things out for myself."
"Of course he didn't want you asking questions," Linc said, his fingers curling around hers. "So he intimidated you out of it."
God, how could he do this to her, make her feel like this? She wanted to curl up in the shelter of his arms and never come out, to let him take care of everything, of her, forever. But she couldn't. Because if she did that, she knew she would want more. More than he would ever be willing to give her. Even now, she wanted to touch him, to stroke him, to feel that searing heat of his mouth on hers again. She forced herself to speak, to voice the truth once more in an effort to make him see it.
"Yes. He intimidated me. And I let him, because I'm not strong enough to fight him."
She shivered, knew he felt it, knew she was on the edge of tears, but made herself meet his gaze anyway.
"Don't you see, Linc? I'm like your mother, the mother you've never forgiven for being so weak, so inadequate."
"Channie, you—"
The tears were starting, but she had to make him understand, had to make him see that she wasn't worth risking his life for.
"I'm not like Shiloh. God, I wish I was. I wish I was the kind of woman she is. The kind of woman who could stand up to Daniel. I wish I was the kind of woman it would be worth doing this for." She gulped back a sob. "The kind of woman … you'd want in return."
Linc stiffened. Chandra turned her hands beneath his, curling her fingers to enclose his, as if to comfort him.
"It's all right," she said, fighting to stop the flow of tears. "I understand. Why you didn't want me, I mean. A man like you could have anyone."
She felt Linc go suddenly taut. "I thought," he said slowly, "it was made quite clear whether or not I … wanted you, right here, in that seat, yesterday."
Chandra blushed furiously. "I didn't mean … I know you … responded, but that was just physical."
"Th
ank you," Linc grated out, "for that explanation."
Her color deepened, and she wondered when she had begun to blush over things that usually left her unmoved. When he just stared at her, she stumbled on. "I mean, you're not the kind of man who takes just because it's there. You'd only want a woman you could care for. A woman strong enough … who's worth…"
Her voice trailed off, and Chandra had to look away from his suddenly fierce gaze. She stared at their hands, willing herself to pull away, but unable to carry out the silent order.
From his crouched position beside her, Linc looked at her lowered head, at the thick fringe of pale hair as it swung forward and brushed her chin. He felt as if he'd collided head-on with a torpedo, like a man at the point of no return, with a decision to make and the rest of his life depending on it.
How had things gotten so twisted? He'd tried so hard to convince her that she was worth more than to use herself as payment for a debt she thought she owed, and instead had apparently managed to convince her that he found her completely undesirable. She had developed this heroic image of him, and then persuaded herself that a man like that wouldn't want anything to do with the coward she thought she was. Except perhaps as her husband had found her desirable, for sexual release only.
He would have found the irony of it amusing, he thought, if he wasn't so damned tired of battling the urge to show her exactly how much he wanted her. It had been gnawing at him for days now, and yet here she was, believing in her battered soul that he didn't care for her at all. And believing that he was too—what, noble?—to take her without caring.
Well, there was one way to show her, wasn't there? One way to prove to her once and for all how much he wanted her? And she'd offered it once, hadn't she? His body clenched fiercely in response to the thought of taking what it had been clamoring for for so long. The urge to give in nearly swamped him as he thought of pulling her off that seat, down onto the floor with him, of stripping them both of their clothes, of draping her slender body over him, of stroking and tasting every inch of her tender flesh, of having her stroke and taste him in return...
A low, harsh groan broke from him as his body surged to fullness, ready to carry out his fantasy. Chandra's head came up at the sound, her eyes wide, glimmering with moisture from the tears that lingered. And vulnerable. So very vulnerable.
He knew then that the only thing he wanted more than to ease this ache for her was to see her free of this ugly trap she was caught in, to see her discover who she really was. He knew then that he did care, and sensed that he was only beginning to see how much. Why the hell else would he deny himself what his body was screaming for?
"It has nothing to do with wanting you," he finally managed to force out. "If that was all it was, I would never have been able to … stop last night. I would have … taken you right here, on the damned table, I was so hot."
Chandra's eyes widened. Her lips parted for a quick, deep breath, as if she were suddenly short of air. When she once more caught her full, lower lip between her teeth, he nearly groaned again.
"Damn it, Channie, how can you think I don't want you, when it's been eating me alive?"
She sucked in another short breath. "Then why…?"
"Because," he snapped out, voice gruff, "I didn't want you if it was only because you thought you owed me. You don't owe me anything, Channie. Nothing. Especially not that."
Linc stared at the change that came over her face, easing the trembling of her lips, erasing the lingering fear in her eyes.
"I … it was that, in the beginning. I thought … it was the only way I could pay you back for all you'd done."
"I don't—"
"I know that now. You would never take a payment like that. You don't even expect a payment," she said, wonder lighting her eyes with a glow that took his breath away. "But it's not like that anymore. That's not why I—"
Linc saw the color rising in her cheeks anew, and wondered at the change in the woman who had been so accustomed to being used she never blushed when most women would. Was it, as he hoped, a sign of a change inside her, a change for the better?
"That's not why what, Channie?" he asked softly, lifting one hand to gently touch her damp cheek with the backs of his fingers.
"That's not why I … want you now."
Linc caught his breath. She said it so simply, so honestly, it made him feel as if he'd been too close to an exploding depth charge, and the shock wave rocked him to his heels. He stared at her.
"It has nothing to do with owing or paying," Chandra said slowly, as if she were stunned herself at the wonder of it. "It has to do with wanting to know, at least once in my life, what it's like to be with someone because I want to be, not because it's … my duty as a proper, obedient wife. It has to do with wanting, really wanting, for the first time in my life. It has to do with being with a man who wants me, not the polished, perfect image that isn't me at all."
Linc wanted to grab this moment, to turn around her own words, to make her look at them, make her see that if the polished, perfect image wasn't her, then neither was the weak, inadequate one. He wanted to make her see what he had seen, a spirit that had been buried but not crushed, battered but not broken, a spirit that so clearly declared by its very existence the strength of the woman who had managed to keep it alive despite incredible odds.
He wanted to do all of that, but when she slowly, hesitantly reached out to touch him, to cup his face in one trembling hand, he was lost to anything but the rush of sensation that flooded him. He'd wanted her too long, too fiercely to deny this chance, not when she'd so eloquently asked for it, removing all trace of payment and debt from between them.
And hovering in the back of his mind was the knowledge he'd lived with all his life, that at any moment something could go wrong tonight. And Daniel Lansing was a killer. To die without having ever tasted Chandra's sweetness seemed suddenly an act more foolish than any he'd ever contemplated.
"And you don't have to worry. I won't … get pregnant." She gave a twisted half smile. "I didn't dare—"
"Channie," he said thickly, "God, Channie, be sure. You have to be sure, because I … for the first time in my life, I don't know if I could stop."
He heard her make a small sound, almost like a whimper. "I don't want you to stop," she whispered. "I want to know everything … with you."
He did groan then, low and deep in his throat. He stood up suddenly, pulling her up with him, off the settee, dragging her body up his as his mouth darted down to hers. She met him eagerly, hungrily, and it was his undoing. He couldn't stop himself from pouring all the need, all the longing that had been building in him since the moment he'd pulled her from the sea, into that kiss. She answered it with her own need, and the heat flared into pure flame.
When he plunged his tongue forward into the honeyed depths of her mouth, she accepted him with a fervor that lured him onward, deeper, until her tongue was wrapped in a stroking, teasing dance with his, sending those flames racing along every nerve in his body.
His hand slid down her back, pulling her tighter to him, needing to feel her soft curves against him more than he ever remembered needing anything. When she moved sinuously, rubbing her breasts against him, when he realized he could feel her nipples hardening against his chest, a low, guttural groan broke from him.
He couldn't stand it, could barely breathe, and he withdrew his tongue. But she followed him, tentatively tasting his lips, running her tongue over the even ridge of his teeth, then probing inside as if seeking that which he'd taken away from her. The feel of her, the taste of her, drove all thought of respite out of his mind. He opened wider for her, luring her on, and the sweet feel of her tongue sent his senses careening wildly.
He slid his hands down farther, grasping her hips and pulling her tight against him. Caught between their bodies, already swollen male flesh expanded, quivering, as if seeking the softness of her belly. When she moved, arching her hips forward as if to caress that part of him, his fingers curled,
grasping the taut curve of her buttocks, and his body jerked forward involuntarily, catching her between his hips and the table.
He wanted to pin her there, wanted to dispense with the preliminaries, wanted to forget all about finesse and gentleness and drive into her here and now with all the subtlety of a bull moose. But he would have to be careful, he warned himself. She was so much tinier than he, she would be so small, so tight…
He choked back a groan. He had to stop thinking about it, or he was going to humiliate himself right now. It had been too long, he'd wanted Chandra so fiercely, and his control was on the edge of shattering. When she hitched herself up onto the table, and parted her legs so that he slipped between them, so that he was pressed tight against feminine softness, the sudden burst of heat that shot through him weakened his knees.
"Channie," he gasped, wrenching his mouth from hers. "We've got to slow down."
"Why?" she asked, blue eyes hot and dreamy-looking as she gazed up at him. Then, suddenly, the heat began to fade, replaced by a doubt that wrenched some tender place in his heart. A shadow darkened her eyes. "Did you … change your mind … again?"
"Change my mind?" He laughed, a thick, rueful sound. His hands tightened once more about her hips, pulling her against him, shifting his hips so that she couldn't help but feel the fullness of his arousal. "Not likely. But—" he sucked in a quick breath as she moved against him "—if we keep going like this, the first time is—oh Channie—it's going to be right here on the damned table, with the plates shoved onto the floor and our clothes still on."
His own words sent hot, fevered images flashing through his mind, and a searing shaft of heat lancing through him, straight to the engorged flesh pushing against her. But the look in her eyes, of something small and wounded, stopped him
"Channie?" he said huskily, worried. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"
She shook her head, but wouldn't look at him. "What, then?"
"I … Daniel used to say things like that … about what he was going to do to me."
"God, Channie, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
TO HOLD AN EAGLE Page 17