Dangerous Temptation

by Anne Mather

  Jake had kicked off his shoes and was presently tugging off his tie and loosening the buttons on his shirt. His chest was as strongly masculine as she remembered, and realising she was wasting time watching him, she attacked the buttons on her thigh-length sweater.

  Below the sweater, she was wearing an ankle-length skirt that buttoned to the knee and was split thereafter, and her fingers fumbled as she endeavoured to release the tiny buttons from their holes.

  She removed the skirt first, aware that Jake's eyes went straight to her stockinged thighs and the three inches of flesh exposed by her stocking tops. There was something rather arousing about undressing in front of a man who admired you, she discovered, and almost without being aware of it, she started to enjoy the experience.

  Her sweater followed her skirt onto the floor, and she stood before him, clad only in her low-cut bra and panties.

  "Wait," he said hoarsely, stepping out of his trousers and coming round the end of the bed to reach her. His erection strained at the navy silk of his underwear, but his eyes were all for Caitlin. With a frankly sensual expression, he cupped the swollen globes of her breasts in his hands, and then, as if losing control completely, he pulled her down onto the bed. He swore softly as he found the catch of the bra and it opposed him, but eventually it gave way, and the tender nipples nudged his palms. "Beautiful," he said, bending his head to nibble at them. "Oh, Kate, I'm never going to let you go away from me again."

  "Did I say I wanted to go?" she breathed, bestowing hot little kisses all over his chest and throat, and he sought her mouth again with undisguised need.

  He was lying half over her now, one well-muscled leg wedged between her legs, his arousal throbbing insistently against her thigh. But although he had disposed of her panties, he was still wearing his underwear, and she allowed the hand that had been clutching his shoulder to slip sensuously beneath his waistband.

  "Christ!" His reaction was every bit as violent as she had hoped, but although he yanked off the offending briefs, he wouldn't let her touch him again. "Give me a break," he groaned, his face hot against her throat. "I'm only human."

  "So'm I," murmured Caitlin, shifting restlessly beneath him. "But I want you to touch me."

  "How?" he asked huskily, drawing his finger up the inside of her thigh. "Like this? Or like this?" He allowed his finger to penetrate the moist honeycomb between her legs, and she clutched him tightly as a sudden spasm gripped her. "Or like this," he appended, spreading the blonde curls that protected her sex, and bending his head. "God—you taste good!"

  "Jake!"

  Her cry was plaintive now, and because he was already beyond the point of no return, Jake moved over her and allowed his aching body to find the relief it craved.

  "Okay," he said, and she could see the sweat standing on his forehead. "Let's make love."

  The first time was fast and furious. Jake tried to keep control of his emotions, but his need and hers were too great to allow for any restraint, and within minutes they were both panting and enjoying the delicious sense of relief that had followed their mating.

  "You are one sexy woman," he said as the convulsions that had shaken his body began to subside. "And I am the luckiest man in the world."

  "Do you think so?"

  "I know so," he assured her softly. "Did I tell you I'm crazy about you?"

  "You did. But I don't mind if you say it again," she whispered, allowing the sole of her foot to move sinuously against his calf. "Hmm, I see you like that. You are one greedy man, Mr Connor."

  Epilogue

  Hours later, Caitlin was awakened by Jake coming back into the bedroom carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. He was naked, and her eyes moved over him with possessive thoroughness, until his body's response brought a smug little smile to her lips.

  "What time is it?" she asked as he climbed onto the end of the bed, and Jake consulted the watch that was all he was wearing.

  "About midnight, I think," he replied with a grin. "My watch has steamed up."

  "I don't believe it," she exclaimed, scrambling onto her knees and facing him without shame. "Mmm, is that champagne?"

  "The next best thing," said Jake drily. "Fletch got it when I came home from the hospital, but I wasn't in the mood for celebrating right then."

  "The hospital?" Caitlin looked anxious. "You mean— the wound on your head was more serious than we thought?"

  "The bullet wound?" Jake shook his head a little ruefully. "No, that was just a glancing wound. Nathan was trying to get my father's old service revolver away from him, and it accidentally went off."

  "Oh, Jake!"

  "It sounds much worse than it actually was," he assured her gently. "But—well, I guess I wasn't as tough as I thought I was." He poured some of the sparkling wine into a glass and handed it to her. "After the funeral arrangements had been dealt with, the cops came to tell me that Fletch had been attacked and had a stroke, and I couldn't take it." He took a sip of his wine. "Stupid, hmm?"

  Caitlin stared at him. "Not stupid at all," she exclaimed hotly. "Oh, God, I knew you were strange at the funeral. Marshall said he tried to talk to you, but you just put him off."

  "I know."

  "But why?"

  Jake took another mouthful of wine. "I guess the simple answer is that I thought I'd never see you again."

  "Jake!"

  "It's true." He regarded her with rueful eyes. "Remember, you'd just seen your husband killed in an explosion, and so far as I was concerned, you'd thought I was Nathan, so—"

  "So nothing." Caitlin was impatient. "If only you'd said something."

  "I couldn't." He grimaced. "And then, later on, after I'd gotten my head together again, I convinced myself that if you'd been interested, you'd have written or called or something."

  "I did!" Caitlin spoke urgently. "I tried to get in touch with you at Prescott about—oh, I don't know, maybe two weeks after the fire." She sighed. "But you weren't there, and someone called—Hank Grafton?—"

  "He used to work for my father."

  "Yes, well, he said you weren't there, and he didn't know where I could reach you."

  "Jesus."

  "I could only hope that you'd get in touch with me," she explained huskily. "But you never did."

  "And now you know why," said Jake drily. "Are you sure you know what you're doing? Are you sure this is what you want?"

  "I was never so sure of anything in my whole life," said Caitlin, and with a groan, Jake lunged towards her, carrying her back onto the bed. "The wine," she wailed as her glass went flying, but Jake wasn't interested.

  "To hell with the wine," he said thickly, spreading her legs with one of his. "Hmm, that's better. I've got you exactly where I want you."

  It was the following morning before Caitlin got around to telling Jake that she knew about Marshall.

  "You knew, didn't you?" she asked, after she'd confessed that her mother had finally told her the truth. "He said you'd guessed almost at once. I must be awfully naive."

  "Just awfully sweet," Jake told her gently. "And you have to remember, I'd had a similar history myself."

  "Hmm." Caitlin looked at him across the kitchen table. "What you don't know is that Daddy's had another heart attack, and he's been virtually forced to choose a successor."

  "Marshall."

  She nodded.

  "And how do you feel about that?"

  "Me?" She looked surprised that he was asking such a question. "It doesn't make any difference to me. I told Marshall, when he asked, much the same thing. If Daddy had needed me, of course, that would be different. Naturally, none of us want to run the risk of him being ill again. He's so frail since his last attack, we're all really grateful to Marshall. But I haven't been interested in running Webster's for years."

  Jake frowned. "Because you prefer your work at the antique shop?"

  "Well…" Caitlin coloured. "As a matter of fact, I don't work there any more, either. Janie and I—Janie Spencer, that is—"


  "I remember. The woman you worked with."

  "We agreed it wasn't working out. She's got a new assistant. Della Parish. She's the sixth former who used to fill in when I wasn't there."

  "I see."

  Jake was watching her intently now, and Caitlin wondered if she was as transparent to him as she seemed to be to herself. Didn't he realise yet that she wanted to stay with him? That she couldn't bear to live with so many miles between them?

  "I—I was wondering if I might possibly get a job over here," she ventured at last, and Jake frowned. "Over here?" His tone seemed deliberately expressionless. "As in Pine Bay, do you mean?"

  "Why not?" Caitlin tried to sound casual. "It would mean we could see one another on a regular basis. Get to know one another better, if you see what I mean."

  "No."

  Jake spoke matter-of-factly, and Caitlin winced. "No?" She moistened her lips. "Why not?"

  "Because I don't think we could know each other any better," replied Jake softly, and Caitlin's heart leapt wildly into her throat.

  "So—you don't mind if I look for a job?"

  Jake shrugged. "That's up to you. As my wife, I should think you'd stand a fairly good chance."

  "As your wife?" Caitlin swallowed. "Do you mean it?"

  "Well, it is what we both want, isn't it?" he teased her gently. "Leastways, it's what I want. How about you?"

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  Epilogue

  Unnamed