"Believe me, Chuck—" he groaned "—there's not a damned thing wrong."
Even from where she was beginning to trace that path of dark hair that pointed the way downward from his navel, Nicki heard the laugh booming out from the receiver.
"About time," she heard, followed by the click of the phone being hung up.
With a quick, determined yank of his hand Travis disconnected the phone from its cord, and let it fall to the floor. Nicki laughed, a low, joyous purr of sound that vibrated against the skin of his lower belly. "Now where was I?" she murmured, and began again. She pressed soft, quick kisses across to his hip bone, then back to that arrow of dark hair. She liked that his chest was free of hair, she thought. It made it so hot and silky under her tongue, and made the contrast of the thicket of curls she was exploring now so much more intriguing…
He groaned, low and harsh and quick, when her seeking mouth found him, stroked him, then took him inside. Yes, she'd learned quickly, he thought as the incredible heat enveloped him. She'd learned every spot, every way to touch, to caress, until he was twisting helplessly beneath her, lost to anything except what she was doing to him.
She kept on with that hot, wet caress until his hips were bucking convulsively, and her name was a litany on his lips. He knew he had to halt her before the boiling tide became unstoppable. His body screamed in protest, crying out for the beautiful release that was so near, but he fought it down and reached to pull her beneath him.
As if following a map she'd designed, he blazed the same tingling trails over her body, nibbling at her shoulder, lingering in the hollow of her throat for a sweet, drinking kiss.
He cupped and lifted her breasts, his mouth moving so quickly from one eager nipple to the other that she felt as if he were suckling them both, sending a wide, leaping ribbon of fire down her body. It cascaded through her, down to that molten pool deep inside her, every flick of his tongue adding another burst until it was overflowing, flooding her.
She watched his dark head move down her body, felt the flexing caress of his lips over her stomach and hips. She became aware she had already parted her thighs for him, and blushed furiously at the realization of how eager her body was for that sweet, intimate kiss only he had ever shown her.
"No, Nicki," he said thickly, his breath stirring the reddish curls his fingers were parting, "no shyness, not between us, not anymore."
Of course he'd known of her embarrassment, Nicki thought. Travis always knew. Just as he knew what to say to ease it. Then his mouth was on her, his tongue probing, stroking, and there was no room for any thought, only hot, rippling pleasure.
He was merciless, drinking her honeyed heat until she was crying out, his name bursting from her throat as her hips arched to him, begging, pleading for the sweet flight that was so close. Then he moved suddenly, coming up over her, and she opened for him urgently.
There were no gentle preliminaries this time, he'd pushed them too far, brought them to within a hairbreadth of the edge. He plunged into her in one fierce stroke.
"Travis!" she cried out, her voice echoing with the pleasure of the sudden, welcome invasion.
"Yes, Nicki! Ah…"
It burst from him the instant her body closed around him, holding him in a hot, sweet grip. He felt the ripple of those deep, inner muscles around him, felt the convulsion of her body as it hit that glorious peak, heard her cry his name once more, the most precious sound he'd ever heard. Then, not caring that it was over so fast as long as she was with him, he thrust hard and deep once more and let himself go, exploding in a burst of heat and sensation and swirling light.
Later, when she could move, Nicki lifted her head to look at him a little uncertainly.
"Is it … supposed to happen like that? So … fast?"
A laugh rumbled up from deep in his chest. "How would I know?"
"Well, you know more than I do," she said, blushing.
"Not about this, sweetheart. I don't know anything about the kind of bonfire we start together. "Except—" he pressed his lips to her hair "—that it could only be like this with you."
She sighed, a happy, contented sound that made him smile. She reached out a finger to touch his lips.
"What about all those girls in school?" she teased. Her tone was light, but the tiny furrow between her arched brows told him the question wasn't quite as casual as she wanted it to seem.
"To put it crudely, I would have been better off alone in the shower … there would have been more real feeling." He sighed. "I'm not proud of that, Nicole. More than once I took what was offered, even knowing I meant less than nothing to them. I don't know what I was trying to prove."
She'd almost forgotten, it seemed so impossible now, how he'd been treated then. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"You can ask anything." He gently lifted her chin with a finger, and said solemnly, "But there's something else you should know. After I met you, it never happened again. Every time one of those thrill-seeking little society snobs hung out her invitation, all I could think about was you. As young as you were, you were the best, the most honest person I'd ever known. You made me see them for what they were."
"I love you, Travis Halloran."
A soft smile curved his mouth. "It was worth every minute of the last fifteen years to hear that."
"You're going to hear it a lot more. I've got a lot of time to make up for."
"Oh, I hope so," he said fervently, and bent to kiss her.
An hour later, as he lay sprawled sideways on the big bed, Nicki's damp, naked, and sated body draped over him, he surrendered to the inevitable.
"I have to get going. I have some work to do."
Her head came up. "To San Diego?"
He grinned crookedly. "I didn't think you were listening. You were … busy."
"Oh, I was paying very close attention."
"I noticed." He reached up to cup her face, and lifted his head to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose. "It's only six. Stay here and go back to sleep for a while."
"I need to go to the office."
"You give more than enough time to the office. I don't want you setting foot in the place this morning. Rest for a while." The grin flashed again. "You didn't get much sleep."
She blushed, then her chin came up. "Neither did you."
"Yeah. Can't figure out why I feel so damned good."
She took a swipe at him as he scrambled out of bed, the cocky grin widening. She would, she realized as her eyes lingered on his lean, naked body striding toward bathroom and a shower, give a great deal to see that grin often.
She turned onto her side, snuggling up to the pillow that smelled of him, and without making the conscious decision to, took his suggestion and went back to sleep.
"I hope you're happy."
Nicki finished sorting the stack of mail, made a note, then carefully set the pencil she held down. Only then did she look up at her brother, who had come in and was leaning over her desk.
"Yes," she said simply. "As a matter of fact, I am." At least, as happy as I can be, she added silently, when Travis isn't here to make me think everything's all right.
"He's that good in the sack, huh?"
Her first instinct was to slap him. Only the thought of what glee Carl Weller would get out of it stopped her. Then, driven by some inner demon she didn't quite understand, she gave Richard a decidedly satisfied smile.
"Yes."
It worked. A dull, red flush crept up her brother's neck, and Nicki couldn't help laughing. He'd intended to embarrass her, and wound up discomfited himself.
"You're even blinder than I thought," Richard spat out at last. "Do you know what your … lover has been up to now?"
Lover, Nicki thought. What a beautiful word. "He's in San Diego," she said mildly. And wouldn't you love to know that the man you're calling names is the C.E.O. of Willow Tree of San Diego, she added to herself.
"Well, he left us a little present," Richard said with a snarl. "If you'd been here so
metime before two in the afternoon, you would have known."
Nicki couldn't help blushing as she remembered why she hadn't been here this morning. She'd awakened hours later, feeling more rested and refreshed than she could remember since her mother's illness. And rather pleasantly sore in intimate places. Quickly she spoke, averting her thoughts before they became even more obvious.
"What are you talking about?"
"This."
Her brother slapped something down on her desk, nearly making her jump. She stared at it, then looked up at him in puzzlement.
"A fuse? I don't understand."
"A two hundred amp fuse. It was on the circuit for the dispatch center."
Nicki's forehead creased. "But those circuits take at least a four hundred amp fuse, don't they? A two hundred would—"
"Blow out in a couple of hours. Just like your boyfriend—" he spat out the word "—knew they would. It took all the computers down, including the load sensors. We were, for six hours, virtually out of business."
Nicki paled. "And you think Travis—"
"I know it."
"But he wouldn't! Besides, he's in San Diego," she repeated doggedly.
"And you're fool enough to believe that, aren't you?"
"He wouldn't lie to me." Not now, she thought desperately, not after—
"He was here. He was seen, just before seven o'clock." He gestured sharply at the blown fuse. "Just about the time that would have been put in."
"He was … here?" A chill swept her. Seven o'clock? He'd told her it was six just before she'd gone back to sleep … and he'd told her he was going directly to his office. And he'd been so adamant about her staying at the house. God, this couldn't be starting again, she'd resolved all this, hadn't she?
Quickly she tried to gather her whirling thoughts, to grasp at any straw. "I suppose it was Carl who saw him," she said. "I wouldn't believe him if he said concrete was hard."
"No." Richard smiled, a complacent twist of his lips that told her she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear. "It was Max."
"Max?" The chill turned to ice.
"Go ahead, ask him yourself." Richard reached for her phone. "I'll page him."
She heard the words echoing through the building, surprised that she could hear at all over the hammering of her heart. Max had been at Lockwood for as long as she could remember. He'd been her guardian angel at the plant as a child, when she had been pestering everyone with her questions, and her strong right hand since she'd been working here herself. He would never lie to her. Especially for Richard.
If her brother was confident enough to call Max here, he was sure of what the man would say. So it came as no surprise when the bearded man confirmed Richard's words.
"About ten to seven."
"Did you … talk to him?" Her voice wavered a little, and Max looked at her sharply, as if he guessed there was more going on here than just the suspicions about who was behind the fuse switch.
"Not really. He just waved on his way back to his car."
Nicki bit her lip. "Go ahead," Richard urged, "tell her where he came out from."
Max's brows lowered as he watched Nicki, but when she didn't speak, he answered. "The back door. Downstairs."
He didn't add that that door was right next to the circuit breaker box. He didn't have to; he knew that Nicki knew it as well as he did. And Nicki knew that what his words had meant to her was clear in her face, but she couldn't help it. The chilling, throbbing ache somewhere deep inside her was so fierce it was taking all of her will not to scream with the pain.
"Nicki…" Max's voice was gentle. "Maybe he was here for something else. Most of the guys, you know, they don't really believe he's got anything to do with—"
"That's enough, Max," Richard cut in. "You can go now." Max hesitated, but when Richard glowered at him he turned to go. At the door he looked back over his shoulder.
"Maybe he just—"
"That's enough," Richard repeated sharply. "Get back to work."
Max had barely closed the door when Richard turned on Nicki.
"So, are you satisfied now? You can't pass this off like you did the rest!"
"Go away, Richard."
"So you can think up more excuses? More reasons not to believe what's right in front of your nose? He's using you! He's making damned sure you're too charmed to see what he's really up to. Once he gets control of your percentage, he'll destroy us, and then he'll throw you away. It's all part of his revenge on all of the Lockwoods. He can't get to Mother, so he'll use you."
"No." Nicki shook her head helplessly.
Richard snorted in scorn. "God, if I'd known what it would take to keep you in line, I would have found somebody to put in your bed years ago. I've heard of men being led around by their—"
"Get out!"
Something in her face must have convinced him he'd gone as far as he could, because he turned on his heel and left without another word. Nicki sank down into her chair, unable to stop the shudders that gripped her. Her mind was careening wildly, bouncing from the grim facts that seemed to make such an insurmountable pile to the innocent explanations that seemed so feeble in comparison.
And at last her mind came to rest on the one thing that hurt most of all: the gnawing fear that Richard might be right. Ironically, the discovery she'd made about Travis and Willow Tree leant credence to his theory; Travis didn't need a cent of the money her mother had left him. So why shouldn't he destroy Lockwood, if revenge is what he was after? He didn't need the money, so it wouldn't matter to him if he had to ruin the company just to keep Richard from having it?
But could he, knowing that destroying Lockwood would be the same as destroying her? Or was Richard right about that, too, that he was only using her, fooling her into thinking he cared so that she wouldn't look too closely?
But it couldn't be true. It couldn't all be a lie, not the way he touched her, the way he held her, the sweet, hot way he made love to her. Or the way he let her make love to him, the way he let himself go under her touch. That was part of trust, too, wasn't it? He must trust her, if he bared himself both body and soul to her in those vulnerable moments.
But he hadn't told her about Willow Tree. He'd accomplished this miracle in his life, and he hadn't trusted her with it. Even though she understood now why he hadn't, that realization did nothing to ease her doubts. If he'd lied then—even if only by omission—how could she be sure he wasn't lying about what was going on at Lockwood? Or how he felt about her?
But if he was really so twisted, out only for revenge, he wouldn't give a damn about what she thought of him. Yet she couldn't doubt the sheer, genuine emotion that had been in his voice when he had murmured against her skin how much it did matter to him. But he had never actually said that he loved her. Not once. Not even in answer to her own passionate declaration.
"Oh, God."
It was a low, quavering cry, and it echoed in the office. Nicki wrapped her arms around herself, as if she could hold herself together against the chaos mushrooming inside her. She sat there, rocking slowly back and forth, her eyes clenched tightly shut, tears streaking down her cheeks from beneath the wet spikes of her lashes.
She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, only that when she became aware of her surroundings again, it was dark. Instinctively she reached for the light on her desk, then stopped. She found herself clinging to the dark, as if facing the light meant facing the questions she still had no answers for.
She heard footsteps in the hall, and only then realized that the sound of the outer door closing was what had roused her out of her numbed stupor. She didn't wonder who it was; she knew.
"Nicole?"
She winced as the overhead light flared on as he flipped the switch near the door. He immediately turned it off again, crossed to the desk, and turned on her desk lamp, carefully tilting the shade away from her.
"I figured you'd be here late, but what are you doing sitting here in the dark?"
; She was proud of the steadiness of her voice when she answered. "Thinking. How was San Diego?"
"Fine." He chuckled. "They're doing so well without me, they've got me worried."
"Oh."
"By the way, Chuck wants to meet you."
A sudden heat flooded her as she remembered what she'd been doing during Chuck Howell's last phone call. It was followed by an uncertainty that echoed in her voice.
"He … does?"
Travis grinned, reading her embarrassment accurately. "I don't think it came as any surprise to him. He's a good friend. And he's known about you for a long time."
She stared at him, startled. "He has?"
He nodded. "Oh, not by name, maybe, but everything else. It wouldn't have taken much for him to put two and two together. He's a pretty sharp guy." He grinned again. "He told me you called him."
"Oh." It seemed to be all she could say.
"He was pretty impressed."
"He said that?"
"Nope. All he said was, 'Now I understand.' For Chuck, that's impressed."
"Oh."
That third short, flat answer got through to him.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
For a moment he didn't move. Then, slowly, he reached out and returned the shade of the desk lamp to its original position, throwing a halo of light that reflected up to her face. He took one look at her red, swollen eyes and sucked in a sharp breath.
"What is it, Nicole? What happened?"
Nicki took a quick breath of her own, steadied herself. "Did you come here this morning?"
He looked at her quizzically. "Yes, I did. I hadn't planned to, but I left some papers here I needed to take back to the office. Why?"
"Did you … use the back door?"
She saw his brows lower in puzzlement. "I had to. They had a bunch of trucks pulling out. It was as close as I could get. What—"
"Do you know what this is?" With a shaking finger, she nudged the piece of metal that lay on her desk.
He drew back a little, barely glancing at the burnt-out fuse before returning his intent gaze to her face. When he answered, his voice was tight, strained, as if he had absorbed some of her own tension. Or as if he already knew why she was asking.
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