T is for Temptation

by Jianne Carlo

  “And he does seem so apologetic. What’s your name, sweetie?”

  “Jake Mathews, ma’am, and you are?”

  The toilet door slammed open, and Tee grabbed his arm and swept in front of him.

  “I’m so sorry. I had completely forgotten the Trinidadian Crochet Club meets here on Mondays. We’ll get out of your way.”

  Tee pulled Jake to the far door, and he glanced over his shoulder and blew a kiss to his army of three.

  “I could kill you for that,” Tee grumbled as she headed out of the club, those long sexy legs of hers taking wide strides. In seconds they were at the area where he’d parked the car.

  “I’ll drop you off to the Main House,” he offered. “Have dinner with me tonight. We need to talk, Tee. I didn’t use a condom.”

  Jake winced at the deliberate deception inherent in those words, but in this battle any tactic courting victory came into play. She paled, and then a delicious hue matching the delicate rose petals swirling in the warm tropical breeze suffused her tawny skin.

  Tee always smelled flowery, and until recently he’d not been able to pin down the scent. Pretty pink roses with yellow centers bordered the circular driveway of her parents’ home, and he’d kissed her in front of them on the graveled path on his last visit. Passing a florist’s display two days later, he hardened the minute the scent hit him. Doomed to erection from the smell of roses, his prick thickened.

  Blast, not now. He concentrated on reading her expression. Rioting emotions flashed in her eyes, and she bit her lower lip and frowned at the car’s glossy black door.

  “Hell,” he muttered and tugged her into his arms and took possession of her mouth, sweeping his tongue along the taut seam of her lips in persuasion.

  Her sigh, scented minty and hot, warmed the rapacious cavern of his mouth, and she let him in. An insolent conqueror’s bravado drove him to cup her bottom and rub his erection against her pelvis. A drugging desire so potent, so caveman prehistoric wracked him, and he could’ve taken her right there and then in the club’s crowded parking lot had not a chorus of delighted giggles and raucous hoots and hollers penetrated his brain.

  It took every ounce of discipline he possessed to ease out of her sweet mouth. He leaned his forehead on hers and brushed the corner of one eyebrow with his lips.

  “Damn,” she whispered, her voice shaky and gruff. “My mother will hear about this before I get home.”

  Jake knew her mother, Tricia, didn’t approve of him and viewed him a social inferior, a self-made millionaire too coarse about the edges for her elegant daughter. Early in the game, her mother’d recognized his lust for Tee, and she’d taken every opportunity to shipwreck his blatant pursuit of her only child after Tony’s death.

  Tee shrugged out of his embrace and opened the car door. He couldn’t decipher her intentions, but determinedly walked around the vehicle and got into the driver’s seat. The snapping of their seat belts rang like an obscene bell in the strident silence, and the grating quiet widened like a Florida sinkhole during the interminable ride to her parents’ house.

  His obsession with Tee had been immediate and overpowering. Always known as the man with the Midas touch, his luck drained away the minute Tony Trent introduced his new wife, Tallulah.

  Jake zoomed into her amber-haloed eyes and the powerful vision of a little girl with her features and black curls dancing in the sand played in his brain. The image had shocked the beejesus out of him and he had caught the next flight out of Trinidad and buried himself in work. Long a loner, Jake had no intention of ever marrying or having a family.

  Determined to eradicate his lust for his partner’s wife and life, he worked hundred hour weeks, screwed one nameless woman after another, and drank his way through several expensive single malt whisky bottles.

  Nothing made any difference. Every night Tee and the laughing child haunted his dreams and Jake began to question his own sanity. Since adolescence, he’d had visions; that déjà vu feeling others talked about, he experienced in spurts, except he knew ahead of time what would happen, and that foreknowledge paved the way for the successful day trading that started his career.

  With a start, Jake realized they had reached the Inglefield’s home. Henry, Tee’s father, stood in the driveway, and he smiled and waved as Jake yanked the hand brake on the rental car.

  “Dinner?” he asked and glanced at her pensive profile.

  “I have to attend the Bastille Day thing,” she said, and in one fluid movement, slammed the car door open and swung out of the vehicle.

  Not willing to accept any refusal, he followed her up the pebbled path. Waning afternoon sunlight cast their elongated shadows to one side. A border of pink roses danced in a gentle breeze, wafting their aroma around Tee and distracting him for a moment. His blasted prick strained against the denim shorts, and he managed to un-tuck his loose shirt so it concealed his reaction.

  “Jake, good to see you again,” Henry greeted him. “How long are you in town?”

  “Two days, but that might be extended,” he replied and shook her father’s outstretched hand.

  “Because of the break-in at the office, I presume. One of the inspectors called me—this news about my former son-in-law is very disturbing. Let’s discuss the matter over a drink in my study.”

  Henry kissed his daughter’s cheek.

  “Honey, let your mother know Jake will stay with us until this issue is settled. With Tony’s office off-limits, you’ll need a place to work, m’boy, and Greenbriar is Wi-Fi and will give you ample privacy.”

  “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  “Good, good. Tee, I tried to get Tony’s vehicle out of impoundment, but it’s a no go. Where’ve you two been anyway? Tricia’s called me three times looking for you, honey. Something about hibiscuses?”

  “No worries, Dad. What Mother wanted is in the car. You two go on ahead. I’ll slip back and get it.”

  The two men followed her lithe movements, one man driven by lust, the other, a father’s instinctive protectiveness, Absentminded in his personal life, Henry Inglefield’s legendary business expertise and unrelenting drive for success rivaled Jake’s. The two men held each other in mutual approval and respect. Possessing not a shard of his wife’s snobbery, Henry had been the one to suggest his daughter assist Jake in unsnarling the mess Tony left behind.

  The man seemed to throw them together at every opportunity, and this invitation to stay at Greenbriar caused Jake to wince inwardly. While he had every intention of screwing Henry’s daughter as often as she’d let him, neither marriage nor a serious relationship entered into the picture. He’d hate to lose Henry’s respect, but that didn’t deter him for a second, not since the primitive craving to be inside Tee had become his sole focus.

  Five minutes later, ensconced in buttery, cavernous chocolate chairs and nursing fifteen-year single malt whisky, Jake listened to Henry’s summary of the police investigation into the break-in. He made the appropriate noises about cooperating with the authorities and delved into the business reason behind his visit.

  “As you know, I’ve been trying to decide what to do with the Trinidad operation,” Jake said and took a good slug of liquor. “There’s no diplomatic way to put this, Henry, but our offshore bank account in Antigua, the one Tony opened, was cleaned out a week after his death. The SEC is scrutinizing Trent and Mathews’ books, and I suspect the media will be sniffing around. If Tony was involved with drugs as the police implied this morning, I don’t know what the recriminations will be for you and your family.”

  The older man’s freckled complexion darkened, and he coughed. “A refill is in order, I believe.”

  “Don’t get up. I’ll get the decanter.”

  Jake stood, and the soft leather sighed, relieved of his weight. He’d sifted his options on the plane and decided against sharing his suspicions with Tee’s father until he had more evidence. Pouring the golden liquid into Henry’s crystal tumbler, he reversed his decision.

>   “What was your opinion of your son-in-law?”

  Shadows crept across the wine colored Persian rug as Jake settled back into the chair. Straightlaced, but diplomatic to the core, the older man shook his head and grimaced.

  “This must remain in strict confidence, m’boy. As you know, my daughter is somewhat reclusive, and both her mother and I worried about her obsession with the Olympics.” He steepled his long fingers together. “I hired Tony because he’d won two gold medals. He did a good job training her, but when Tee failed to earn a spot on the UK team, she grew despondent.”

  “And Tony stepped in?”

  “Tricia encouraged a relationship between the two of them. Now I look back on things, I’m convinced Tee simply went along with her mother’s wishes. You should have gathered from my comments since Tony’s death, all was not well between my daughter and her husband. Trinidadian society is incestuous, and it wasn’t long after they were married I first began hearing the rumors of his affairs.”

  Her parents didn’t know the marriage hadn’t been consummated, Jake realized, and the suspicious bent in his nature went on amber alert.

  “She didn’t bat an eye when the fatal accident occurred. Never shed a tear, not that we know of anyway. But Tee’s normally reticent, and she and my wife are not close. The long and short of it is, Tony Trent hurt my daughter, and I harbor not a single positive thought about the sodding bastard.”

  Stunned by the inherent dislike cording Henry’s perfect diction, Jake tossed back his drink and went for the gusto.

  “Then you should know I hired a security firm to investigate him thoroughly. I suspect the Antigua account is the tip of the iceberg.” He gritted his teeth. “The principal reason I went into partnership with Tony was because of the capital infusion he brought to the table. While the business has always been profitable, cash flow at the time he appeared on the scene was crucial. Not that it matters anymore. You should know, though, as soon as I can, I’m shutting down Trinidad. I can’t risk the bad press that’s bound to occur now.”

  “Ah, I was afraid of this. I’ve admired the way you’ve dealt with everything after Tony’s boat exploded. This may prove too intrusive, but I am particularly grateful for your gentle handling of my girl.”

  Jake didn’t believe in guilt, didn’t acknowledge the emotion even existed, not for him. It booby-trapped success. For the first time in months, he hesitated, as the unfamiliar emotion sent his stomach into a nosedive. The study door opened with a sharp thud, offering a small reprieve.

  Tricia Inglefield marched into the room, shoulders squared in disapproval, and her azure eyes ripped a shot of sheer scorn at him.

  “Jake,” she said and inclined a regal nod in his general direction.

  Her clipped, prune-in-the-mouth English accent irritated every inch of his skin, and he fought the urge to straighten his shirt collar.

  “Henry, our guests will be arriving in less than half an hour.”

  Blast, the woman could scold without raising her voice, and he wondered if she’d ever hugged her daughter, ever laughed with her, and how a man like Henry could live with such a cold, unfeeling female. It reinforced every conviction that the institution of marriage was a doomed one and not for him.

  “Jake, you’ll be joining us, of course, since Henry’s seen fit to invite you to stay at Greenbriar. I presume you’ll need to freshen up, and the affair is jacket and tie.”

  His hackles rose, and a reflexive belligerence set in, and Jake suggested in a rough, insolent drawl, “Perhaps Tee can show me the way to the cottage?”

  “Tallulah is quite busy assisting with the preparations. I’ll have a servant lead you there.”

  No one used such a politically incorrect word anymore, and he recognized Tricia’s hit with reluctant admiration, her clarification of his plebian social status as clear as an uncluttered tropical horizon and given as a warning.

  “Jake took Tee to Eight Bells to get your hibiscus holders, darling.”

  Henry’s mild reproach soothed Jake’s bruised ego a tad.

  “Thank you.” She twined her fingers together at her waist and met his gaze. “I understand you met three members of my crochet club.”

  Blast, his face warmed, and he had to staunch the inclination to squirm under her glowering stare. The three old biddies, Jake shuttered his eyes and clenched a fist. A wave of sympathy wracked through him as he contemplated Tricia confronting Tee about their passionate, public embrace.

  He lurched to his feet, eager to escape from the room.

  “Thanks for the drink, Henry. Tricia, if you’ll point me in the right direction, I’m positive I can locate the cottage on my own.”

  Her lips flattened, and she gave him terse instructions. Resisting the impulse to race out of the study, Jake mumbled a polite thank you and strolled away.

  Greenbriar proved to be a miniature of the Main House, a quaint replica of plantation splendor. A high king-sized mahogany bed dominated the master bedroom, and lascivious fantasies of Tee nude and glorious, lying on her back in the middle of it, got him to orgasmic spilling point in seconds.

  With only ten minutes to shower and change, the fantasies proved so erotic he almost jacked off in the shower. He resisted the temptation only by anticipating luring Tee back to the cottage after the blasted dinner.

  Shrugging on his jacket, Jake caught sight of handmade cards of all shapes and sizes crowded onto the bedside table. He picked one up and studied the wobbly crayon script.

  Cherry is the best horse ever, read the outside. Lopsided hearts decorated the inside, along with a grubby handprint and a glued-on photo of a young boy with dark eyes too big for his thin face. And you’re the best teacher ever, love me, read the inside. He sat on the bed and read a sample of the dozen cards, all in a similar vein.

  The photographs showed children with the stamp of physical fragility, one with braces on his feet, another devoid of hair, this one in a wheelchair. The last card he picked up broke his heart.

  Heaven, read the outside above a colorful rainbow. On the inside, Jake scrutinized the drawings of three stick people and a bulb-like creature. Arrows labeled each image. The word me next to the smallest figure; Mama, next to a female with a red heart at its center; Tee, next to a female with a solid mass of hair; and Cherry, next to the animal.

  He set the card back into place and stared at the array for long seconds. Somewhere a bell rang, and the sound jolted him back to reality. Unbidden, his gaze swept to the other table, no cards, a digital alarm clock instead.

  But, as he neared the doorway, an 8x11 metal-framed shot of Tony and Tee smiling in their wedding finery on the mantel drew his attention. Jake cursed, strode over to the blasted photograph, and clenched his fists, resisting the urge to send it flying into the fireplace below. Soured, he settled for tucking it into a dresser drawer.

  Four hours later, having sat through a tedious, taxing seven-course meal which Tee failed to attend, he swore like a marine on the return to the guest abode. He couldn’t recall a more tortuous evening. Tricia sat two proper matrons on either side of him, and they conducted a Spanish inquisition dissecting his background with centuries of aristocratic disdain. Drained, defensive, and angry, sleep proved elusive.

  Daybreak came early in the Caribbean, especially on an island near the equator, Jake mused as he dressed. The painful hammering in his head slowed every movement, and he regretted downing so much wine the night before.

  It was a full thirty minutes later before he sat down to breakfast on the porch off the Main House. A dwarf lime plant decorated the center of a circular wrought iron table; its petite, porcelain-like white flowers perfumed the air with a sweet, pungent aroma.

  “Jake.”

  Tricia Inglefield didn’t meet his gaze.

  A humming bird whirred around a potted plant behind her. The tiny creature hovered over a salmon hibiscus flower at the top of a branch, its wings a blur of motion.

  “Tricia.”

  In no mood t
o exchange barbed banter, Jake pulled his napkin out of an ornate pewter ring.

  “Will Henry be joining us?”

  “Yes. He should be here at any moment. Orange juice?”

  “Thanks.” Jake held out his glass.

  Green, yellow-chested parrots darted about the trees lining the porch, arguing loudly. Tricia poured pulp-thick liquid from a pink crystal jug into his glass.

  “Where is Tee?”

  The royal glower she shot him could’ve shattered granite.

  “Not that it’s any of your concern, my daughter decided to visit a friend in Barbados.”

  She dabbed a pink napkin at the left corner of her mouth.

  Metal groaned as one side of a double door opened and Henry strode onto the patio.

  “Morning, m’boy,” he said. “Just ended a call from the police inspector. The chauffeur-cum-messenger Tony employed confessed that the cocaine was his. The office is no longer off-limits.”

  “Good news,” Jake replied, his mind centered on locating Tee. He remembered her best friend from the wedding, a cynical, Playboy-boobed blonde bombshell, Desdemona Bloom, who lived in Barbados. “I understand Tee flew to Barbados?”

  Henry grimaced. “She’s visiting Dee. Got a call from her while we were in the study yesterday, the attorney general’s fallen ill, and Dee’s filling in for him.”

  And what the blasted hell that had to do with Tee’s abrupt disappearance, Jake couldn’t decipher. He tugged his earlobe and strung the moment out, hoping for inspiration.

  “I didn’t realize there was an evening flight to Barbados.”

  Morning sunlight streamed through the tree leaves, weaving a dancing, shadowed pattern on the pale tablecloth. Husband and wife exchanged filtered, anxious looks. Jake considered their carefully stoic expressions.

  Tricia held out an oval wicker basket. “Toast?”

  Her pleasant tone and their secretive glance set every alarm bell jangling.