by Meryl Sawyer
“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice raspy.
“So…are you,” she managed to say.
He angled his body across hers, the weight pressing her down into the soft mattress. The rasp of hair on his chest tickled her breasts and sent yet another bolt of searing heat downward. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him—everywhere.
His cheeks were stubbled with an emerging beard, but it only added to the erotic sensations coursing through her body. Her tongue explored the patch of soft skin behind his ear. It had the faintest taste of salt. His overheated body exuded a woodsy, musky aroma that spiraled through her in a heartbeat. She moved downward until her lips touched the soft hair on his chest and she felt the thud of his heart against her mouth.
Oh, please, she silently thought. Let this last for hours and hours. Don’t let it end.
His powerful back was moist beneath her wandering hands, the muscles flexing at her touch. He moved against her, his hard body delightfully heavy as he nudged one leg between hers. His iron-hard erection delved between her legs.
“Oh, my. You’re just too good at this.”
Instead of responding, his lips nuzzled her nipple, sucking the taut bud deep into his mouth. His tongue played with it while she writhed beneath him. One second she wanted to scream for him to hurry; the next she wanted to demand he slow down, make this last all night.
She felt weak, her body quaking with need. Blood thundered in her temples and it was hard to think coherently. Instead she instinctively reacted and guided his penis into her as she widened her legs to accommodate him.
His mouth claimed hers and he kissed her with a fierce abandon that made her light-headed. He thrust into her in one quick motion that left her gasping for breath. He felt huge and burning hot inside her.
Oh, my. Oh, my.
Nothing registered in her brain for a moment except how thrilling this felt. It was a primal feeling, she dimly realized, a sensation she’d never experienced until this moment. The charged duet of their breathing, their bodies moving in sync seemed so right. So perfect.
“Madison,” he moaned in her ear. “You feel…you feel…”
Without completing his sentence, he began driving into her, then pulling out in a series of long, slow strokes. She lifted her hips to deepen the angle of his thrusts. Then, without warning, he picked up the pace, jackhammering into her. She clutched at him, crying his name. “Paul…oh, Paul!”
Pleasure rippled through her in shuddering waves and she arched higher, lifting off the bed as she reached the crescendo. Her body contracted in a convulsion of pleasure so mindblowing that she saw stars. White-hot stars.
Seconds later he drove into her one last time as he found his own release. He collapsed on her, panting, then rolled to one side, their bodies still joined. She felt languid, dazed and utterly incapable of rational thought. They lay silent for a few minutes, cradled in each other’s arms, still breathing like marathon runners.
“Well,” he said with a typical male smile—a grin really, “am I any good?”
“There’s only one way to tell. Let’s do it again. This time I’ll critique you as we go.”
MADISON WALKED through the lobby of St. John’s Hospital. The blood tests and physical exam to screen her for organ donation had taken most of the morning. It was almost noon, she noticed, checking her watch. She’d promised Paul that she would examine the underside of her computer to see if a keystroke logger had been attached to the keyboard, then call him. He was probably wondering what had happened to her.
Paul. Lord have mercy. What was she doing? She had no business getting involved with a man right now. Too late! She was involved, if that’s what you called making love to a man all night long.
When she woke up alone in bed, she figured it was par for the course. Men were into sex but had no idea what to say to you in the morning. Wrong. Paul had been in the kitchen, scrambling eggs and brewing coffee.
The aroma of the coffee had drawn her like a powerful narcotic, but she made a quick dash into the bathroom to brush her teeth and rake a brush through hair like a tumbleweed blown across Texas. The mirror told her that she could haunt a house and charge by the room, but it didn’t keep her out of the kitchen.
Paul had kissed her, then insisted she eat breakfast. He was a little upset to hear she was going to the hospital for testing instead of heading straight to the office to check for the keystroke logger, but she’d promised and didn’t feel she could let down Wyatt and Garrison.
“How’d it go?” a male voice asked, breaking into her thoughts.
She looked up, startled to see Garrison walking toward her. What was he doing here? “Fine. It took longer than I expected. I didn’t know it would be a complete physical, including a stress test on the treadmill.”
“I’m sorry. I hope you didn’t miss something at work.” His expression was sympathetic and she realized she must have sounded snippy.
“It’s okay, really.”
“Donating part of your liver involves major surgery. You have to be in excellent physical health.”
“I know. Dr. Miller explained the procedure in detail.”
“Have you got time to grab a quick lunch?” He gestured toward the cafeteria off the main lobby. “My father’s in there, saving a table. He had to have a series of tests this morning, too.”
She wanted to say no but couldn’t bring herself to do it. True, Garrison and Wyatt had their own agenda, but they’d both treated her with such kindness. The way things were shaping up, she would need to stay at the guesthouse for at least a week. “Thanks. I’ll have to make it quick. I need to get back to my office.”
Hand on the back of her arm, Garrison guided her into the large cafeteria. It wasn’t an ordinary cafeteria, with steam trays filled with dried-out or greasy food. There was a salad bar and turkey being carved by a chef at a make-your-own-sandwich station. Fresh fruit was arranged in bowls on shaved ice.
“They’re really into health here,” Garrison explained when he noticed her looking around the room. “Nothing fried, no red meat.”
In the far corner at a round table for four, Madison saw Wyatt. He waved at her, but she barely managed a smile. At his side was the ever-charming Savannah. If she’d known the woman was going to be here, Madison would have made an excuse, but it was too late now.
Wyatt stood as she approached the table. Savannah smiled, but resentment etched her beautiful face like a death mask. Garrison pulled out a chair for Madison.
“Thanks for beginning the testing process,” Wyatt said.
“No problem,” Madison replied. He appeared tired even though it wasn’t much past noon. She remembered what Garrison said about his father being more ill than he appeared.
“What would you like?” Garrison asked. “A salad or a sandwich?”
“A salad with chicken and iced tea,” she said. “Let me help you.”
Garrison was already walking away. “I’ll get it.”
Madison reluctantly lowered herself into the chair. Savannah and Wyatt had partially eaten salads and drinks in front of them. There was a half-eaten sandwich at Garrison’s place beside her.
Wyatt nudged his daughter with his elbow. “Savannah has something to say to you.”
I’ll bet. “Really?”
“I’d like to apologize for the way I behaved yesterday morning,” Savannah told her with all the enthusiasm of a woman receiving the last rites. “I was out of line. I know you’re just trying to help my father.”
Madison couldn’t bring herself to say it was all right, because it wasn’t. And Savannah wasn’t one bit sorry. Somehow her father had found out about the incident and forced her to apologize.
“I was very rude. I don’t know what got into me. I guess I’m just overly protective of my father.” The gorgeous redhead’s tone softened a bit. “I don’t want anything to happen to him.”
Most people would have assumed Savannah was referring to Wyatt’s health, but yester
day morning, Savannah had been upset about her father’s money.
“We’ve been talking about the Holbrook Foundation,” Savannah added in a voice that was just a little too perky. All is forgiven. Get over it, her tone seemed to imply. She smiled at her father, then asked Madison, “Do you know what the largest living organism on the earth is?”
“Coral reefs,” came Madison’s automatic reply. Did this woman think a quick “sorry” meant she wanted to have anything to do with her?
For a second Savannah looked stunned. “Oh, I forgot.” She rolled her vibrant green eyes. “You’re a trivia expert.”
“While we were waiting for you, Garrison was trying to explain that coral reefs hold endless possibilities for medical discoveries,” Wyatt said.
“Aren’t the reefs being killed by global warming and here in Florida from pesticide runoff from golf courses?”
Wyatt smiled at her while Savannah kept talking. “Garrison is nutso over those corn sprouts that have been successfully used to treat hepatitis B.”
“That’s not from the ocean,” Madison replied, not knowing where this confusing conversation was going.
“True, but my son is…well, how can I put it?”
“Bonkers. Simply bonkers,” Savannah supplied with an unflinching stare like a vulture. “My brother believes the future of medicine lies not in chemistry but in nature, especially the sea. This hepatitis B discovery only validates his theory. Garrison is determined that Father award the lion’s share of the foundation’s research money to scientists involved in plant-or sea-based discoveries like the one he’s working on.”
“It’s an ongoing discussion we’ve been having—”
“Father,” Savannah chided. “I wouldn’t call it a discussion. It’s more like an ongoing fight that my brother won’t give up. Garrison thinks he’s won this round—”
“Savannah, that’s enough.” Wyatt smiled at Madison and she had the impression he was embarrassed by his grown children’s bickering. “Scientists often disagree on the best method to achieve the same goal.”
Madison tried for a smile, but she couldn’t help wondering what Savannah’s role was. As if reading her mind, Savannah spoke.
“I’m working on skin rejuvenation products from what’s left at the bottom of a wine cask. You know, grape skins and seeds. Their antioxidant properties are fifty times more effective than—”
“Vitamin E.”
“Exactly,” Wyatt said with a warm smile for Madison.
Savannah’s eyes narrowed slightly; she didn’t even attempt a smile.
Garrison arrived with a large chicken salad and a glass of iced tea. He placed them in front of her. “Thanks. Looks great.” She immediately stabbed a chunk of chicken with her fork.
“We’ve asked the lab to process your blood work as quickly as possible and have Dr. Miller look over the results of your physical. It usually takes three days, but we should know tomorrow. The next day at the latest.” Garrison gave her an encouraging smile, then took a bite of his sandwich.
“Did you straighten out the ID theft problem?” Wyatt asked.
“Not yet. Apparently it takes longer and is more complicated than most people imagine.”
Garrison touched her shoulder. “Do you need—”
“I’m fine. Just having a place to stay while I straighten out the mess is a huge help.” She looked directly at Wyatt. “Thanks.”
“You know, every day twenty people die in the United States waiting for a transplant,” Savannah said, using her tongue like a whip.
“Savannah!” Garrison scowled at his sister.
She shrugged defiantly and her red hair flowed over her shoulders like molten lava. “It’s true. I just—”
“I’m sure Madison understands the gravity of the situation,” Wyatt told his daughter in a tone that said Savannah should shut her mouth. “I don’t have a lot of time.”
“The waiting list for organs is months—even years—long, depending on the type of transplant an individual needs,” Garrison added.
Madison thought about this for a moment. She’d meant to go online and learn more, but with everything that had been happening—and Paul—she hadn’t had time. “A person can’t just jump to the top of the waiting list, can they? What if I match someone who’s been waiting longer?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she had time to think.
Savannah’s quick glance at her brother telegraphed…what? Was Madison missing something?
“The person at the top of the list would receive the donation,” Wyatt assured her in a level voice. “But if you’re related to someone, you can choose to give him the organ instead of the person on the top of the list.”
Shock must have registered on her face because Garrison quickly said, “Most living-donor liver transplants are from family members. Few people volunteer to have part of their liver surgically removed for a total stranger.”
Thoughts tumbled through her brain like loose change. She recalled Rob telling her that this was a risky surgery and wondered how long the recovery would take. Along with that thought was the realization that this family honestly believed she was related to them. No doubt she would have to sign some sort of document saying she was related in order to bypass the donor recipient list.
Madison would have to admit she was part of this family, and they would have to formally accept her. Legal documents must be involved.
That’s what had Savannah in such a snit. She was insecure and didn’t trust her father to love her the way he did now if another sibling arrived on the scene with a lifesaving transplant. Or was it more about the money? Madison couldn’t be sure. Savannah was hard to read, but Garrison was an open book. He wanted to save the world—the oceans first—and his father. Who knew what Savannah really wanted?
Madison was tempted to assure them of what she knew to be the truth. She was Zach Connelly’s daughter. But she could see no amount of arguing was going to persuade this family. Only the facts would.
“They swabbed the inside of my mouth for a DNA test,” Madison told them. “How soon will it be run?”
“That takes weeks,” Garrison told her. “Best-case scenario. Could take up to two months. By then you’ll have gone through the battery of tests necessary before you can donate.”
She had the sinking feeling there was much more to this than anyone had told her. Savannah looked away while Garrison took another bite of his sandwich.
Finally, Wyatt said, “I have a very sensitive immune system. I’ve always been allergic to cats, strawberries, mold of any kind, shellfish…you name it. The doctors will need to see if our immune systems are compatible.”
“That means a bone marrow test.” The way Savannah said it with such relish told Madison it wasn’t going to be pleasant. She’d heard of the test, of course, and Garrison had mentioned it, but she didn’t know what was involved.
What had she gotten herself into?
CHAPTER TWENTY
PAUL GAZED across the table at Valerie Branson. The FBI agent was thoughtfully studying the latte on the table in front of her. He’d told Valerie about Luis Estevez’s offer to buy Madison’s half of Total Trivia.
“You know I can’t comment on any of our investigations,” she finally said.
“Of course not. That’s why I suggested we meet here to discuss this in general terms, not focusing on a specific case.”
They were sitting at a table under a banyan tree at the Daily Grind. Paul had called Valerie while he was driving to Holbrook Pharmaceutical’s security offices, where Tobias Pennington and his staff were going over New Horizon’s files.
“What I can tell you,” Valerie said, “is that Estevez hasn’t been indicted…yet, but it’s just a matter of time.”
Paul nudged aside his mug of café cubano. “Can you tell me if Estevez has been acquiring small companies like Total Trivia?”
She hesitated a moment before saying, “He hasn’t, but I’m not surprised. Look at it this way. If you have a lot
of money to launder, how are you going to do it without getting caught?”
“Nightclubs and restaurants are good bets. Who’s to say how many customers paid in cash? It’s difficult to track.”
“Nearly impossible,” she agreed. “But there’s a limit to how much money you can funnel through a club or restaurant on any given night. Anything more than a quarter of a million looks suspicious.”
“Whoa! That much?”
Valerie smiled, an easygoing grin that went with her outdoorsy looks—a lanky tomboyish build, brown hair several shades lighter than her dark eyes and a spray of tiny freckles. Paul had met her several years ago at the shooting range when he noticed the woman next to him was a crack shot. They’d started talking and gradually become friends. She’d helped him several times by putting him in contact with agents in the Miami field office to advise him on various cases. This was the first time he’d asked for her direct help.
Valerie leaned across the small café table and spoke in a low voice. “Obviously, you don’t do much clubbing. These days, it’s not unusual to have what they call private service. You order whole bottles of very expensive premium liquor or wine and have your own waiter who just stands at your table to attend your guests. The tab skyrockets.”
“I see what you mean, but at a certain point generating too much money would raise a red flag.”
“Right. I’m not aware of Estevez investing in anything but clubs and restaurants, but now that you’ve brought this to my attention, I wonder if he has decided to expand. It would be a clever move.”
“How so? I didn’t see any way he could funnel cash through Total Trivia the way he could a club.”
“There’s a way. Add gambling to the site. You then have to collect and pay out money. That means a bank—Estevez’s own bank, no doubt—will have to handle the finances. Since the game is online, someone could set up a lot of fake accounts who lose money. That way dirty money is funneled into the bank.”
Paul sat up straighter, the idea clicking into place and making sense. “Money streams in and it appears legit.”