Wild Hawk

by Justine Davis, Justine Dare

  “But I knew that no matter how much you wanted it last night, you’d regret it this morning. And I didn’t want that to happen.”

  As an emotional about-face it was more than effective; Kendall’s eyes widened, her expression softened, and the tension in her eased visibly. What amazed Jason was his thought that it was true, that he really wouldn’t have wanted her to regret it. When it came right down to it, he liked and admired Kendall. And he really didn’t want to hurt her.

  Only, he insisted to himself firmly, because it would make his task so much harder. He couldn’t get what he needed from her if she was wishing she’d never laid eyes on him. He almost managed to convince himself that was the real reason.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, managing a suitably contrite tone. “This wasn’t the time to discuss this. I promised we’d talk about this.” He gestured at the manila envelope that lay on the table between them. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  It was a long, very silent moment before she answered, and Jason could only hope she was having as much trouble as he was getting the images he’d invoked out of her mind.

  “I . . . yes. It’s what Aaron wanted.”

  She gave her head a slight shake, as if she were trying to physically rid herself of the unsettling thoughts he’d planted. He could almost see her gathering her composure, and this time the sense of admiration was more than a flicker; Kendall Chase was a strong, determined woman.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  He knew this was only the first of his answers that would have to be worded very carefully. She was smart enough and wary enough not to buy into a too-complete turnaround on his part. So he chose something as close to the truth as he dared.

  “I still don’t want Hawk money,” he said. “But I want her to have to give it to me.”

  He watched her eyes as she considered this, and then, finally, she nodded.

  “All right.”

  “I need to know some things, if we’re going to beat her at her own game.”

  She nodded again. “Whatever I can tell you, I will.”

  He spent the next few hours walking a tightrope, trying to keep her talking, yet keeping her from realizing what he was really after. He listened to more than he ever wanted to about his father, but knew he had to, to get what he needed to know from her.

  Much of it was in the way of confirmation; he’d gathered a lot of information over the years, and apparently most of it was fairly accurate. Aaron had owned a little less here, a little more there, and at his death was stretched a little thinner than Jason would have guessed, but that would only make it that much easier. He allowed himself a brief moment of pleasure, contemplating the look on Alice’s face when she realized what had happened.

  He felt a small qualm when he cloaked his more probing questions about Aaron and his work and holdings in the deceptive guise of an estranged son’s reluctant curiosity, and Kendall answered eagerly, as if pleased he was at last interested. And her answers showed him that she indeed knew the inner workings of Hawk intimately, just as she’d always claimed. He’d been very, very wrong about her, and that disturbed him; he wasn’t used to being so wrong about people. Perhaps he’d been reacting out of his instant attraction to her, unconsciously trying to quash it by turning her into someone he could despise.

  As she talked, he learned a lot. Some things he’d needed to know, some he didn’t want to know or care about. Things that shouldn’t make any difference to him at all. That there had never been another woman in Aaron’s life, after his mother. That no matter how much she insisted it was Aaron’s idea, it had really been Kendall, with her fixation on family, who had softened up the old man and made him begin to search for his son once more.

  And he’d come face to face with the fact that where Kendall’s response had been a tremendous effort to preserve the family that had survived for so long, his had been to destroy it utterly. And he didn’t know why that thought bothered him.

  But he stifled his misgivings by reminding himself of his purpose. It had been at his core, that driving need to prove that Aaron had been the loser for abandoning his only son, for so long, that the loss of it at Aaron’s death had sent him reeling. But he had it back now, its focus only slightly changed, and he was more rather than less resolute in his determination. For it wasn’t just abandonment and rejection he had to pay back now.

  Now it was murder.

  KENDALL DIDN’T know what had come over him. For hours they had talked—or rather she’d talked; Jason had mostly listened—and he’d been like a different person. He’d been a different person ever since he’d come back from the mansion last night. But it wasn’t until Jason had at last gone back to his room saying he needed to make some phone calls that she’d had a chance to think about it.

  She sat watching the sunlight fade away as she contemplated the change. When the shadows began to blend together she at last got up; only then, when her muscles protested, realizing that she was paying the price for sitting all day on top of the wrenching her body had taken yesterday.

  She stretched gingerly, trying to loosen the battered, knotted muscles. Her back ached, but her shoulders were the worst, especially just below her neck, where they seemed so tight the slightest movement hurt. She began to rotate them, trying to make herself continue her train of thought, as a distraction. Jason had always been that to her, she admitted. A very large distraction.

  What was strange was not so much that he’d changed, but the way—or the ways—in which he’d changed. Yes, he was amusing, friendly, and utterly charming, definitely a most radical change, she thought wryly, but there were also moments when she thought she glimpsed something else in him, just a flash of expression, or a glint in his eyes, something colder, harsher, and more implacable than ever before.

  She told herself it was only natural, if he’d come to believe that Alice had been the cause of his mother’s death, but that didn’t make it any less frightening.

  But she had no qualms about helping him to defeat Aaron’s widow. No matter how cold or calculating Jason might seem to be about this, nothing could be worse, or more cold-blooded, than what Alice had done.

  Which explained the harshness she’d glimpsed, but not the sudden excess of amiability. Was this the real Jason? Had it been hidden by the bitterness he’d felt, by his suspicions of her? Or was that the real Jason, the man even colder than his father, and this new, appealing charmer the facade, constructed for some purpose she couldn’t see?

  “God, suspicion must be communicable,” she muttered as she twisted at the waist, trying to loosen up some more. “It’s spreading.”

  Like fire?

  She stopped in midmotion, unable to stop the shudder that swept through her. Wildfire, maybe.

  Yes, there was that to deal with as well. The first time he’d kissed her, it had been to prove a point, she knew that. It was what had so confused her, and what had made her angry when she’d realized that he’d meant only to use the kiss as a demonstration. And that anger had enabled her to ignore her response to that kiss.

  But last night . . . Last night had been something different. Last night had been . . .

  She didn’t know what it had been. She didn’t know why he’d done it. She only knew it was insane, the way she reacted to him. He’d only kissed her. There had been no reason for her to melt into a puddle over it. Men kissed women good night all the time, and that didn’t happen. Men had kissed her good night, and nothing even close to that had happened. Ever.

  The only thing that saved her from complete mortification was the knowledge that he’d been as aroused as she had been. There couldn’t be, she thought, anything more desolate than knowing you were alone in feeling like this. But he had been right there with her. She knew he had.

  Unconsciously, her hand stole down to lay flat over her be
lly. Heat flooded through her in a rush, flaring up into her cheeks, when she realized she was touching the place where his erect flesh had prodded her. And then his words came back to her, those erotic, seductive words about how much he wanted her, how hard he’d been just from kissing her, and what he’d wanted her to do to him.

  She closed her eyes, swaying on her feet as she pictured them, standing alone together in the darkness in front of this room. If she’d been a little bolder, if she’d had a little more experience with this kind of feeling, would she have done it? Could she have?

  She imagined it, imagined herself doing as he’d wanted, reaching down and freeing that rigid hardness, caressing it, stroking it. How would he react? Would he groan, make that low, husky sound that had sent such a thrill through her? Would he move like that again, that short, convulsive, almost helpless, movement of his hips, this time pushing himself harder into her hands?

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, and her hand pressed down on her belly as those deep muscles rippled again.

  A noise spun her around in time to see the door swing open. Jason stepped inside, frowning at the knob.

  “You should lock that—”

  He broke off at his first glimpse of her face. She could only imagine what she looked like, flushed and aroused by her own silly imaginings. And that she was now face to face with the man who’d brought them on only intensified her embarrassment until she thought her face must be literally on fire.

  “Are you all right?”

  Jason was looking at her in a way that made her think he knew exactly what she’d been doing. She hastened to speak, hoping she could convince him her breathless flush had only been the result of an effort to ease strained muscles.

  “I . . . Yes. I’m fine. I was just . . . trying to loosen up a little.”

  His mouth quirked. “I like the sound of that.”

  Color flared in her again. And so did irritation; she hated that he did this to her so easily. “I’m a little sore, all right?”

  Looking instantly contrite, he shut the door behind him and walked over to her. She watched him warily.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Things knotted up a little?”

  “A lot,” she retorted, thinking it the understatement of all time.

  “I’ll bet, after that little ride you took,” he said, sounding wholly sympathetic. And then, before she could move, he was behind her, his hands coming up to rest on her shoulders. “Here. Maybe this’ll help.”

  She was ready to protest; most men, she’d found, didn’t realize their own strength when it came to kneading aching bodies. But then he began to move, slowly, his strong fingers using just the right amount of pressure, the heat of his hands seeming to gather, then diffuse through her, easing the tightness.

  It felt wonderful, and when he gradually increased the pressure she felt no pain, only a growing, spreading warmth and lassitude. He moved to the space between her shoulder blades, rubbing firmly yet gently with his thumbs, until a long, low sigh escaped her.

  Her head lolled forward, and she vaguely felt him lift her hair and drape it to one side. She should tell him that was enough, she thought. Except that it wasn’t; she wanted this to go on and on.

  He began again, this time on her neck, massaging with exquisite care until the tense muscles there relaxed as well. She’d never felt anything like this, not even the time when she’d accompanied Aaron to a business meeting at a spa, and she’d taken advantage of the chance for a professional massage. That had been invigorating. This was . . .

  She didn’t know what it was, only that she never wanted it to stop. The languor spread, until all she was aware of was the heat of his touch and the wish for more.

  “Hey,” he said softly, so close to her left ear she could feel his breath, “you going to sleep on me?”

  Going to sleep on Jason. Now that was a lovely idea, Kendall thought with a languid sigh.

  “Hold on to that thought, whatever it was,” Jason whispered, pressing his lips to the skin below her ear.

  Kendall shivered as an electric sensation feathered along her skin. The tip of his tongue flicked the lobe of her ear, and the sensation spread out in small waves. When he moved slightly and traced the inner curves of her ear, the sensation became a charge rippling through her, making her gasp.

  When he stopped, she felt that same chill she’d felt when he had broken the kiss last night. And she couldn’t seem to stop herself from feeling the same sense of disappointment she’d felt then. She leaned back against him, still feeling tiny echoes of that current that had undulated through her.

  “I think . . .” His voice sounded strangely hoarse, and she heard him swallow tightly. “I think if we’re going to get that dinner I promised you, we’d better do it now.”

  Something about the way he sounded made her turn around to look at his face. But the only sign that he was the least bit tense was a slight tautness of his jaw.

  “Dinner?” she asked, focusing now.

  “I made you eat junk food for breakfast, and lunch. I owe you a decent meal.”

  “Oh.”

  To her mortification, the disappointment she’d been feeling a moment ago seemed to echo in her voice. Jason smiled, that same warm, charming smile she’d almost gotten used to since last night. But this time it didn’t seem to reach his eyes; they looked as cool and calculating as they ever had. But then he tilted his head to look down at her, the light hit him from a different angle, and she saw that she was wrong. The smile did reach his eyes; they were warm with promise.

  “Kendall,” he said in a teasingly warning tone, “if we don’t get out of here, I won’t answer for the consequences. You turn me on too quickly, and that bed is too close.”

  She felt the heat rising into her cheeks once more. She’d never had a problem with blushing before, and she found it very annoying that she’d developed one now. But she’d never been around a man whose voice, eyes, and virtually every word he said, whose very presence, gave rise to the erotic images Jason West induced in her.

  “Dinner,” she said firmly. Or tried to; it came out a little unsteadily.

  He didn’t protest, merely gathered up the papers they’d decided it wasn’t safe to leave behind, and the book, then held the doors for her, first the room, then his rental car. She’d thought he meant to go back to the Gables, he even turned into the lot, but pulled out the other side and kept going. She looked at him curiously, but he didn’t explain, just kept driving. He seemed very intent, and Kendall’s forehead creased.

  “We’re not stopping?”

  He made some noncommittal sound of acknowledgment that she had spoken.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he muttered, still not even glancing at her. Then he made two quick turns, a left, then a right, until they were in a darker residential district. And nowhere near a restaurant of any kind. Kendall sat up straighter in the passenger seat.

  Jason drove tensely, and Kendall suppressed the urge to question him further; he was obviously in no mood to answer. He drove down one quiet street of houses, then another, seeming to be looking for something.

  Then he suddenly swerved, pulling the car in to a space next to the curb, then backing up so close to the front of a large pickup truck that she could have sworn she felt them touch, although there was plenty of room in front of them. He immediately turned off the headlights, but left the engine running and the steering wheel cranked hard to the left.

  “Jason,” she began.

  “Shh.”

  There was something in the way he said it that made her subside into silence again. And a moment later she blinked when a pair of headlights flashed at the end of the street, through the windows of the big truck behind them. The truck that practically hid them from behind, she realized suddenly.<
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  “Damn,” he said softly.

  She didn’t like the way he’d said that. Nor what she thought he meant.

  “Jason?”

  He glanced at her, then confirmed her fear.

  “We’re being followed.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  HE MUST HAVE been watching them at the motel, Jason thought, and pulled out right behind them. He hadn’t spotted it until they were almost to the restaurant, but it hadn’t taken long for him to be sure.

  “It’s a dark blue sedan. Four-door. American,” he said, without looking at Kendall. “Know it?”

  “Me?” She sounded startled. “No.”

  “Sure?”

  “Why would I—”

  “I thought it might be your . . . friend, George.”

  “No. He drives a little pickup. A white one with a red and white shell.”

  “All right,” he said decisively as the sedan crept slowly down the street toward them.

  He had to assume whoever it was wasn’t friendly. That he was probably even the man who had come so close to nudging Kendall into oblivion. His stomach knotted at the reminder of how close she’d come to death. Not, he insisted, for any reason other than he needed her to get this done, needed what she knew, needed the inside information she had to make sure this went down the right way.

  The car came closer, almost even with them now. As he’d hoped, the driver didn’t seem to see them, concealed by the shadow of the big truck. As if instinctively, Kendall slunk lower in her seat.

  “Now what?” she whispered.