by Rita Herron
Yes, he’d always done what he needed to do to get results. Even if it meant hurting people.
His father would laugh his ass off at the irony. Even though Luke had fought it, had turned to law instead of a life of crime, the liar gene must have been in his bloodstream. In some ways he’d turned into his old man. Ruthless. Calculating. Detached.
Yet he’d screwed up a year ago. And all for a pretty woman.
“Mr. Devlin?”
Luke froze, schooling his reaction as he pivoted and faced Sutton. “You finally agreed to see me. I was losing my patience.”
“Ahh, a federal agent who isn’t a patient man,” Sutton said smoothly. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“I told you I’d be back. You can’t ignore the FBI, Sutton.”
“I had no intention of doing such a thing, but I’ve been otherwise entertained.”
He hoped to hell not with Stella.
Get a grip. He was probably talking business. Attorneys. Luke would ask about that later. “Where’s Stella?”
A small smile quirked Sutton’s mouth. “She’s right here. I forewarned her that you’d probably want to speak with her.”
Luke narrowed his eyes. He’d expected Sutton to refuse. Had been prepared to pull out all the punches. Had half hoped he would so that Luke could throw his weight around and remove her from the premises.
“Is she all right?”
“She was exhausted, but my staff has taken excellent care of her. Physically she’s recovering, but her memory still hasn’t returned.”
“I want to see her.” Luke’s chest tightened at the words. If only he didn’t want it so much.
“She’s waiting outside.” Sutton walked to the door, opened it and gestured with a wide sweep of his hand for her to enter.
Luke’s jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure and not touch her.
STELLA GRIPPED Drake Sutton’s arm as she entered his study. She was still reeling from the information he’d given her upstairs, so much so that she wasn’t prepared to face Luke Devlin.
If she were the awful person Sutton had described, and Luke knew the truth, there was no telling what he was thinking. Maybe he was here to haul her back to jail. Maybe he wanted revenge.
Maybe he wanted to kill her.
She shivered, her knees wobbling, and clutched at Sutton for support. In another instant, she wondered why. Drake had just proclaimed that she was a killer And he’d smiled as he’d announced it, as if he was proud. As if he had created her himself.
Drake patted her hand in silent comfort and led her to the brown leather sofa, then handed her a drink of water. She almost asked for a scotch, then paused to wonder if that was her favorite drink, or if she was simply feeling desperate.
One look into the mask that comprised Luke’s expression, and she flinched. In that second, another emotion flickered in his black eyes—hunger. A tingle traveled down her center and into her belly. The titillating dream floated back, temporarily destroying images of murder, and she smiled, the exquisite memory of his hands on her body doing unspeakably sensual things to her, stirring her to arousal. She was already wet from wanting this man. Her nipples budding to hardened peaks. Her womanhood throbbing for him to fill her.
God, he must have been good.
Guilt and shame quickly shattered the euphoria. If she had seduced Luke with the intention of killing him, and he didn’t know, that meant she had been successful. That she was the cold, calculating, deceptive person Drake had painted her to be.
And Luke had been a victim.
But looking at the sexy, mysterious man in front of her, she had a difficult time believing she could have ever fooled him.
And if she were the cunning killer Drake had described, maybe she’d forgotten her past for a reason. Maybe to escape it.
“Are you feeling better, Stella?” Luke’s husky voice skated over raw nerve endings.
She nodded, trembling as if he had touched her. Maybe she had wanted to escape the past.
Maybe she’d married Luke Devlin because she had actually fallen for him.
“ARE YOU SURE?” Luke asked. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.” She clutched one of the pillows on the sofa into her lap as if she needed to hang on to something.
He almost whispered that she could hang on to him, then caught himself, once again wondering why the sight of Stella rattled him from his normal composure. He had a job to finish, and he damn well had to stay on track.
Even if it meant lying to his wife so he could slap her back in jail.
Or playing the worried husband to win her confidence.
“What exactly did you need to discuss with us?” Sutton asked.
Luke detected an edge in Sutton’s tone and silently admitted he enjoyed putting the man on the defensive. “I wanted to see if Stella remembered anything about the murder.”
Stella clamped her teeth down on her lip and looked up at him. “No. Nothing.”
“Did you identify the dead man yet?” Sutton asked.
“We’re still working on that,” Luke said. “In fact, we suspect he might be involved with Nighthawk Island.”
Sutton shifted, one knuckle rapping against the solid wooden desk. Luke smiled. He’d struck a nerve.
Which meant that his guess had been correct. Sutton and the dead man were connected. And both might lead back to Nighthawk Island.
He had to warn Quinn that someone might be onto them, and to be wary of any contacts with relation to Sutton. He didn’t want Quinn to end up like J.T.
“What is Nighthawk Island?” Stella asked.
Luke angled his head toward her. “It’s a private research facility affiliated with the Coastal Island Research Park, also known as CIRP. There are research and hospital facilities on Catcall Island as well as Whistlestop Island and Nighthawk Island.”
“What kind of research?” Stella asked.
“A wide variety of medically related projects,” Luke answered. “The scientists conduct experiments on everything from stem cell research to biological and chemical warfare to psychological experimentation and treatments. The latest cutting-edge techniques are housed in the facilities with leading scientists from around the world lecturing and collaborating on highly secretive government projects.”
Stella’s ebony eyebrows rose. “All of that is being done here in Savannah?”
Luke nodded. “That’s right. There’s been some controversy surrounding some of the projects, cloning for one. At least two scientists have been killed because of research being sold to foreign governments, one policeman was brainwashed with a memory transplant surgical procedure, and recently a strange virus that caused suicidal tendencies was connected to the park.”
Stella frowned. “I don’t understand what that has to do with me, or the man who was murdered in the motel room.”
Luke shrugged. “We’re not certain yet, either.” He slanted his gaze toward Sutton. “But we’ll unearth the truth sooner or later.”
Sutton gave him a cold stare. “If that’s it, you should go, Agent Devlin.”
Luke shook his head. “I’d like a few moments alone with Stella.”
Stella’s face paled.
Sutton shook his head. “Not without her lawyer present.”
Luke feigned innocence. “You’re forgetting something, Sutton. Stella is my wife.”
“And she remembers nothing about that mistake,” Sutton snapped.
“I…don’t mind speaking with him,” Stella said, surprising him.
Sutton’s arms stiffened by his side. “I can’t let you do that, Stella.”
Luke sat stone-cold still, waiting for Stella’s reply. Hoping she’d insist.
It was obvious from the way she squashed the pillow in her hands that Sutton intimidated her. Was she afraid to speak in front of him?
But why? What kind of hold did the man have over her?
And if Sutton’s game was intimidation, Luke would do the opposite—play the loving con
cerned husband. If she was a spy as that reporter claimed, pretending innocence would work to his advantage.
“I simply want to speak to her privately.” Luke dove into the role, turned to Stella and lowered his voice. “If we discuss the time we spent together, it might jog your memory, Stella. Details might help you recall how we met, how we fell in love, what we meant to one another.”
Stella’s eyes softened, her lips parting as if she actually wanted that, too.
He braced himself against her reaction. Just because she didn’t remember using him before didn’t mean that she hadn’t.
Or that she wouldn’t again if her memory returned.
STELLA HAD BEEN mesmerized by the sound of Luke’s voice. He morphed from a stone-cold professional to a charming man in ten seconds. She could almost believe he wanted her to recall their affair and marriage, that it had been real.
But could she trust him? Or was his charm only a ruse?
If Sutton had told her the truth, and Luke knew the woman behind Stella Segall’s act, then he might be playing her now to get revenge. If not, then God help her…she wanted to turn back time.
Lead a different life.
Let their relationship be real and erase the past.
Sutton took her arm, and she walked him to the door of the study. He stopped abruptly, then lifted a hand to the base of her neck and massaged the tight knot. “Be careful, Stella,” he murmured. “This man works for the FBI. You’re still facing murder charges.”
As if she could forget.
She swallowed hard and nodded. Sutton squeezed her neck again, this time a little harder, and she read it as a warning. Obviously Sutton had secrets to protect, and he feared she’d expose him.
She wouldn’t. Not until she knew the truth about everything. After all, at the moment Sutton was the only person standing between her and prison. And she couldn’t go back to that cell.
She’d die inside.
Drake closed the door behind her, and she turned back to see Luke studying her. A frisson of nerves assaulted her. She had no idea what to say. What to do.
“Come and sit back down, Stella,” he murmured. “I’m not going to bite.”
“Would you like something to drink?”
He shook his head. “No. I just want to talk to you.”
She nodded reluctantly, then slowly walked back to the sofa and claimed the same seat she’d occupied earlier. Luke settled into the leather wing chair opposite her, scooting it closer, so near their knees brushed. She looked up into his eyes and tried to read him, but didn’t have a clue as to the inner workings of his mind.
Unbidden, the memory of the kiss at the prison rushed back to taunt her, and she folded her hands in her lap, perspiration beading her neck.
“We met in D.C.,” Luke began in a low voice. “I saw you at a bar. You were sipping a watermelon martini.”
She smiled at his husky tone.
“You were wearing the sexiest dress I’d ever seen. It dipped low to show off your figure and hugged you all over. It was so tight I wanted to peel it off.”
“What were you doing in D.C.?” she asked, desperate to tear herself from the sex appeal in his eyes.
“I was there on business,” he replied. “I’d suffered through several long grueling days of meetings. Briefings. Some about Nighthawk Island.”
She was surprised he’d offered her that information.
“It was the last night, and I needed to unwind, so I chose a piano bar and restaurant near the hotel. A blues singer had been playing, and you walked up to the piano and dropped a tip in the jar. I had to meet you.”
She glanced up, searched for deception, but the desire flaring in his eyes was so hot it had to be real. So, maybe she had used him, or he’d used her. But the attraction, the sex had been immediate. Real. Hot. Hungry. Raw.
A tingle of pure liquid heat rippled through her. On some level, she realized that she’d never been with a man like Luke Devlin. Never been touched or loved in such an animalistic way. A way that had bound her to him, even if it had been against her will.
“I asked you to dance,” he said with a twitch of a smile. “And you said yes.”
How could she not have? He was completely irresistible…
“Your hair was blond then,” he continued. “Short and spiked with all kinds of waves that spiraled around your face. It looked like cornsilk, and I couldn’t resist running my fingers through it while we swayed to the music.”
“I…I’m sorry I don’t remember,” she said, mesmerized.
“But I do, Stella.” He hesitated, ran a shaky hand over his chest.
Her heart fluttered. Had she really affected this man on some kind of emotional level? Had it not all been lies and deception?
“You’re a sexy man,” she whispered. “You’ve probably had a lot of women.”
He shrugged. “None that mattered.”
The words hung in the air between them, charged. Daring her to protest.
But God help her, she liked the sound of those words. Had never heard them from a man.
Or had she?
No, she instinctively knew she hadn’t. Especially if she was the despicable woman Drake had claimed her to be.
Shame, regret, fear mounted inside her. She didn’t want to be that woman. She ached to be the one Luke described. A sexy, loving woman, not a killer.
“We had a couple of drinks,” Luke said. “Then we rushed to my hotel room nearby. We were tearing off each other’s clothes before we even got in the door.”
The image flashed into Stella’s mind. A memory. Short but erotic.
Luke spoke the truth about that night. She remembered. Clung to it.
She’d been happy in his arms.
Sutton’s words rushed back to taint the memory, though. Had she only been acting a part?
Luke reached out and traced a finger down her cheek. “Your skin felt like satin,” he whispered roughly. “And your lips tasted like…like sweet watermelon. Innocent but decadent. And your hands… I’ve never had anyone else’s fingers turn my body into a mass of need before. Not like yours.”
Stella’s entire body tingled. He twisted a strand of her hair around his finger, wound it around his thumb, drawing her face closer.
“I teased your lips apart like this.” His other hand rose to tip up her chin, and his lips brushed hers. Tender. Hungry. Asking for more. His tongue played along the seam of her lips until she opened to him. He thrust himself inside, exploring, feeling, eliciting more desire. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper.
Her insides screamed for release. For her to be naked beside him. On top of him. Below him. Any way he’d take her.
He traced one finger along her collarbone, then down to her breasts, and his hand closed over her. Stroking. Teasing. Bringing her nipple to an aching peak of desire.
His mouth left hers, his breath a whisper against her cheek. “Then I dipped my head and tasted you here.” His fingers pinched her nipple, and she moaned.
“We made love for hours, Stella. And not just that night. But every night after.” He kissed her again, this time more forceful, thrusting his tongue so far in her mouth she gripped his arms for support. He moved to the sofa, took her in his lap, and pushed her skirt up her thighs. Not asking. Taking.
Cool air brushed her bare skin, but the rest of her went ablaze with fire as he slowly trailed his fingers along the insides of her thighs. With a small moan, he mimicked the motion of sex as his body moved against hers. She bucked and moaned, craving the touch of his bare skin. His shirt buttons gave way easily, and her hands found their way inside. Touching. Feeling. Rasping over his coarse chest hair, tingling as his muscles bunched in her palms.
He groaned and suckled her neck, biting at her ear-lobe, then dipped his head to tease her nipples beneath the shirt. Seconds later, his fingers slipped inside her panties, eased away the lacy barrier until they slid inside her. She gulped in air, felt heat scald her face. She should pull away. Stop this insanity.
But he was like a drug. Addictive. Hypnotizing her with his titillating touch.
He tightened his embrace, and kissed her again, this time hard, fast, urgent as his fingers dipped deeper inside her, thrusting first one, then two, then three through the dampness until she felt herself coming apart. He pushed deeper, slid his fingers out to play with her feminine lips, to taunt her rosebud of desire, to bring her to flames. Colors flashed before her eyes as waves of satisfaction rippled through her.
She moaned his name in a throaty whisper as she hung onto his arms and savored the ride.
LUKE WAS ON the verge of forgetting himself and his job, of freeing his aching erection and sating his hunger, but someone knocked at the door. Stella panted, clinging to his neck, her hair falling across his cheek as she leaned into him.
“Stella?” His voice rumbled out a husky croak, thick with pent up passion.
The knock sounded again, finally penetrating the air between them with an awkwardness steeped in tension. Stella still quivered from her orgasm. And he still craved his own.
Neither one of them wanted company.
“Agent Devlin.”
Sutton’s commanding voice boomed through the closed doorway, and he heaved a breath. “Just a minute.”
Stella lifted her head and looked into his eyes, her dark hair spilling around cheeks rosy from their lovemaking. The passion lingering in her sultry gaze nearly brought him to his knees. But confusion flickered also, triggering a momentary sense of guilt.
She had remembered their lovemaking, at least to a point—he felt it in her response. But too many unanswered questions stood between them, a broken trust that tainted the flavor of their ecstasy.
He righted her skirt, and she slid off his lap, thumbing her slender fingers through her tangled hair while he rebuttoned his shirt. What the hell had he been thinking? That he could seduce her into remembering everything? Into admitting that she was a spy, that she’d used him? That she’d never loved him?
Or that he was such a potent lover, that she had fallen for him as well? That she never could have deceived him, never could have destroyed their special bond…
Yet she had destroyed it the minute she’d left him on their wedding night.