by Cait Jarrod
He deepened the kiss. A low, guttural moan vibrated. One hand slid to the nape of her neck. The other traveled down her spine, massaging and sending sparks of pleasure through the silk. His adventurous palm rested on the small of her back and pressed her closer. The kiss lasted until she grew so hot and damp, she didn’t think she could speak, and eased back.
“Whoa,” he panted. Confusion and longing settled in his enlarged pupils.
The sensual haze he generated anchored deep in her stomach, creating a sense they’d found each other. Logically, she believed souls didn’t find one another and people played a part in their own fate, but this connection, meeting of bodies and minds, blew her theory.
She gulped down the giant ball of emotion. Needing something else to think about, she asked again, “Who’s this Ben guy?”
“Last night, you called me Ben.”
That part she remembered. “Why would I?”
“I wondered the same.” He paused, studying her. “Have you spied on me?”
“No,” she said on a half-laugh, lying a tad. Whenever FBI agents, or retired agents in Jake’s case, dropped by The Memory Café, she’d looked for Larry. If he showed up, she watched him through a window in one of the saloon doors. “Why would you think I spied?”
“Benjamin Larry Newman at your service.” He grinned.
Her chin dropped. She hadn’t dreamed up the name. But how did she know to call him Ben?
“Are you all right?”
If he only knew the workings of her mind, he’d run. She twirled the stem between her fingers and flicked her gaze to his chest, appreciating the sight again…bare…muscular…wide shoulders. Before she drooled, she wiped the edges of her lips and focused on his eyes.
He didn’t turn red this time and leaned in for another kiss. His chest rubbed against hers, silk sliding across her sensitive nipples.
What he did with the soft petals she couldn’t forget. Still, the nagging memory they were at the schoolhouse stayed with her. She eased back. “The rose, did it come from the bush at the manor?”
“It did. You held the stem when I found you on the ground.”
“I did?” her voice quaked. Lines muddled between what she hoped he did with her and what actually happened.
He tugged her close. “In time, you’ll remember everything.”
The intimate touch of his warm chest pressing against her responsive breasts increased her already elevated pulse. She sank more into his comfort, enjoying the touch of him, and received a whiff of burning wood. “Why do you reek of smoke?”
“I should take a shower.” He shifted to rise.
She clutched onto his hand. “No, it’s fine. Did you build a fire?”
The mattress dipped from his body weight as he relaxed on the mattress. He held her hand. “I did.”
She remembered a woodstove in the schoolhouse. “At the manor?”
He did the cuddly puppy thing again and tilted his head. “No. I cooked it downstairs on your woodstove in the family room. I put the rest in the refrigerator. Do you want some more?”
“More?”
“You had a bowl last night. You told me your grandmother made chicken-noodle soup the same way when you were a kid.”
“If you say so.” She had no clue what she did or didn’t say. “I wasn’t quite myself.”
“You were lovely. You are lovely.”
She stroked his five o’clock shadow. “Have you always been so sweet?”
A robust laugh erupted. He kissed the palm of her hand. “I know some felons who believe not.”
Larry’s sincerity and considerate qualities put him on a whole other level than her ex-husband. “I can’t imagine why you’re not married.”
The compliment backfired. Larry’s expression turned impassive and his body went rigid, cat-like, ready to flee.
She read the signs…subject closed.
Since the kidnapping, she’d seen him a few times, daydreamed about him. This gorgeous FBI agent saved her and her son. How could she not fantasize? He never asked her out, yet here she sat in her bed wearing a nightgown she hadn’t put on—with him shirtless as if they hung out comfortably together every morning.
He snuggled her into his embrace, pressing her face against his chest.
Memories flooded her from the day he rescued her and her son. Her watery gaze had met Larry’s across the battlefield, a magical moment passed between them. An awareness she didn’t understand, yet knew it existed.
Last night, his lips caressed hers. The intimacy, comforting, and soothing had driven away the ghostly apparitions and animate objects.
Now, the embrace sparked a fire so deep inside her she had to act.
“We need to have a replay. The experience is worth remembering, or in this case, repeating.” His whiskers brushed her cheek along with his breath.
The tender words and touch made other body parts beg to be stroked. She sighed, pulling back until her gaze met his. “Now?”
His lips curled, his eyes brightened.
She dove into the kiss and sought out what she’d wanted since the day she met him.
Kissing him, the tightness in her chest, and wanting to press her naked breasts against his skin, she got it. A magical attraction ran rampant between them, explaining her perception she had moments ago, feeling like she’d come home to a place she didn’t know existed.
Possessing such a strong chemistry so easily with someone she didn’t really know frightened her.
He eased back, placed his hands on each side of her face, kissed her softly, and gazed into her eyes. “I’d rather keep kissing you, but I have a few questions I have to ask.”
She’d forgotten about their deal. “Okay.”
He grasped both of her hands. “This is delicate. Know that I have to ask.”
The expression on his face bothered her. “Ask.”
“Did you take any narcotics?”
She had to admit her behavior last night was totally out of character, but Larry asking her questions about her character after they had just had such an intimate kiss bothered her. She pulled her hands free, pressed her back into the headboard to put distance between them, and narrowed her eyes. “No.”
“My questions won’t hurt.” He braced his hands on the mattress on either side of her hips, trapping her in.
She squirmed under his scrutiny.
“Do you know anyone who works at Greenwood Manor?”
“No.”
“What about the overseer, Jed Bradley,” he edged his upper body closer, “ever met him?”
“No.”
“The wine you drank on the back porch, did you bring it?”
“Who was spying on whom?”
He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. “My turn to ask the questions.” His breath drifted across her face.
“No.”
“Here’s the scoop. Last night your pupils were large and your behavior was erratic. They’re signs of someone taking hallucinogens.”
She studied him. Did he think she popped pills? “I drank wine, nothing more.”
“Okay. If you didn’t bring the bottle, where’d it come from?”
“From a basket on the porch.”
“Do you make it a habit to take other people’s wine?”
Disappointment snaked down her spine from his insensitive tone. “Are you irritating on purpose or is it habit?”
He laughed. “Touché.”
“And no, I don’t. I thought I was locked out of the house. The bottle was there, ready for the taking.”
“Didn’t Paul give you a key?”
Larry already thought she was nuts, she didn’t want to go into the ordeal of how the house key was locked in her car. “Long story.”
“What was in the basket?”
“A bottle of wine and a glass.”
He arched a brow. “Only one glass?”
“Yes.”
One corner of his mouth rose. “Glad to know you can say the word.”
The ten
sion in her face lessened. “When warranted.”
“I hope I’m worthy of a yes one day.”
She let out her anxiousness by blowing out a puff of air, the hair on her forehead lifted. “You do know how to heat up a room.”
“My charms are more than rusty. I’m glad they work.”
“Me, too.”
“Charlene,” the intensity of his voice grew, “I-I—” He groaned. “I want to take what we have between us further.”
She’d love to see what they might have between them. With her twisted history, not being able to trust men, she didn’t know if it was wise or fair to Larry.
“But, I don’t know if I can.”
Her mouth fell open. She didn’t know what to say. Thinking the words and knowing she’d only have to contend with her own wayward behavior was one thing, but for him to express the same…it stung. She closed her eyes and shook her head, figuratively shaking the cobwebs out of her mind. What a mess.
His warmth surrounded her. She kept her eyes shut and let him pull her into his embrace. She relaxed her head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the smoky, woodsy smell.
“Let’s take this slow, okay?”
Slow was good. She needed time to wrap her mind around everything, too. To see if she could bury the hatchet of not trusting to be able to lower the walls she’d built up around her heart.
“So you know, when we are together, I don’t want any confusion if it’s a dream or not or if I’m real or not.”
She slid her arms around his back and held on. Is this man for real?
“As for the wine, I think someone laced it with some sort of drug. I don’t know why or if you were the intended target. Trust me, I will find out.”
“Mommy!” The front door banged open.
She pulled back and whispered, “It’s Henry. He can’t see you in here. He won’t understand.”
“Mommy, where are you?”
“Sweetie, in my room,” she shouted and turned toward Larry.
He moved off the bed and grabbed his shirt from the rocking chair.
Footfalls banged on the steps, then the hall’s wood floors. Henry bounced into the room, wearing a Spiderman costume, no mask, his blond hair dangling on his forehead. He halted. His keen eyes skimmed over her in bed, the blankets pulled to her neck, to Larry, now clothed, standing a few feet away.
The only time Henry had seen Larry since the kidnapping was on occasion at The Memory Café, a party situation. Here in her room, she didn’t know what he’d think.
“Mommy, are you okay?” By the sullen words and the concerned expression, her son had assumed the worst.
“Yes…no…Last night,” she stuttered, not knowing how to describe what happened. “I was sick. Agent Newman helped me.”
Her son nodded. He held up an orange pumpkin and dumped the contents onto the bed. “Look at the candy.”
She curled over and moved the pieces of candy and mini games from a bubble gum machine around.
Larry joined them. “You made a killing, little man.”
Henry glanced up, smiled, and giggled. “I’m only seven.”
“Really?” Larry rocked back on his heels. “I thought you were at least ten.”
The grin on Henry’s face stretched. Charlene loved seeing him this happy. He hadn’t really smiled much since the divorce. To be honest, he wasn’t happy prior to the divorce either.
“You weren’t well?” her mother asked from the doorway. The sunlight streamed through the window onto Doris’s brown hair, sprinkled with gray. Her dark eyes twinkled. “How are you now, honey?”
Charlene uncurled, sitting up straight and keeping the sheet up to her neck. Telling Henry a little white lie about the reason Larry was in her room so as not to confuse him was different than lying to her mother, yet how could she explain someone drugged the wine she drank? She couldn’t, and supported the lie. “Hi, Mom. I’m better. This is Larry Newman. Larry, my mom, Doris Weber.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Larry stretched out a hand.
“Forget the handshake. I’ve wanted to meet you for some time. You helped save my daughter and grandson.” Doris hugged him. “You rescued my babies.”
Larry winked at Charlene over her mother’s shoulder.
Henry left the candy discarded on the bed and walked to Larry as his grandmother stepped away, his brown eyes questioning.
Larry knelt in front of him. “Hey.”
Henry’s chin wobbled and eyes watered, but he stood still. Charlene ached for her son, who’d already been through so much in his young life. The expression on his face suggested he wanted a hug. From her and Henry’s many conversations, she knew how much her son thought of Larry.
Larry touched the Spiderman cape. “This is a great costume. You’re my favorite action hero. I wanted to be him for years.”
Henry tilted his head. “He’s not real, like you.”
A muffled sniffle escaped Doris.
Larry raised an eyebrow to Charlene. She knew what he wanted. He wanted to comfort her son in a way Henry’s father never did. Once she nodded, Larry opened his arms. Henry studied him for a moment before walking into his embrace.
The sincerity of her son hugging the man who saved him along with Larry clutching him was more than she could bear. Tears slid down her face. She tried to suck in some air, but it hitched on a sob.
“Can I call you Larry?” Henry asked and shifted away. “That’s what Mom calls you.”
One side of Larry’s mouth lifted. “She does, huh?”
“She talks about you a lot.”
“I do not,” she said on a nervous giggle and wiped her cheeks. She might think about Larry once or twice…a day, but she didn’t talk about him all the time.
Her mother caught her gaze and lifted an eyebrow.
Maybe she did…once in a while.
Laugh lines outlined Larry’s eyes and mouth. “You don’t say?” His cell beeped. “Excuse me,” he said before walking into the hall.
Her mother grinned.
Henry smirked.
“What’s up with you two?” Charlene asked.
“Nothing. Are you hungry?” her mom asked as she put the candy back in the pumpkin.
“I have toast and coffee.” Charlene nodded toward the tray.
Henry grasped the pumpkin’s handle and darted out of the room.
“I found homemade chicken soup in the refrigerator, like my mother made when you were sick.” The knowing eyes of her mom flickered with delight. “He cooked for you. He’s a keeper.”
“Mom, I don’t know. We haven’t been on a date.”
Her mother kissed her forehead. “Maybe not, but what you two have done is much more intimate.”
“Mom!”
“Not that.” Doris waved a hand and made a disgusted face. “He cared for you while you were sick. Any man who sticks around to do whatever is necessary is a good one in my book. Not many are around. You and I didn’t choose well the first time, yet we have beautiful children. I believe you will find a man who will treat you like a princess, the way you deserve.”
“You deserve a good guy, too.”
Her mother squeezed Charlene’s hand. “Henry wasn’t hungry when he got up. Too much candy, I think. I’ll go fix him some pancakes.”
Her mother exited, passing Larry reentering the room. “Jake called. I gotta go. Can I see you this evening?”
She needed a ride to Greenwood Manor to pick up her car. While there, she wanted to look around to settle some of the troublesome images that kept flashing through her mind. With Larry meeting Jake, maybe one of the BOFs would go with her. She’d rather not bring Henry to the manor, yet, not until she knew for certain what she had seen was a figment of her imagination.
“Sure.”
He closed the distance between them and brushed his lips across hers. Again, last night drifted into her mind, like the green chaise. Was it inside the building? The place Larry pressed his body on top of hers in her dreams… She
had to find out. “I’m going out to Greenwood Manor,” she blurted.
His body went rigid. “Why?”
The question caught her off guard. “To pick up my car.”
“If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll take you over later this afternoon.”
She could wait, but didn’t want to. “Thanks, but I’ll catch a ride.”
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
For not knowing her well, he gave his opinion freely. “Are you telling me not to?” She hoped not. It’d be a deal breaker.
A vein in his forehead showed. His jaw tightened.
What is he not saying?
“It’s your decision. For the record, I don’t think it’s wise,” he said in a restrained, yet irritated tone she hadn’t heard before.
“So you’ve said.”
“Let’s talk later.” He kissed her cheek and left.
A moment later, the front door shut.
The wonderful moment they shared ended with his abrupt departure and his silent order for her not to go.
Her ex-husband had manipulated and tried to control her. No matter how much Larry’s honey-colored eyes made her melt, no man would ever have power over her again.
She tossed back the covers and headed for the shower.
Chapter Five
In the small hideaway at Greenwood Manor, Mathews fumed.
Once ‘big fuzz’ drove Charlene off in a black Suburban, he’d parked the four-wheeler in a building along the road leading toward the backfields and walked the quarter of a mile in case trespassers happened by. He didn’t want any evidence pointing to him staying at the house.
Sitting on the floor in the musty room barely large enough to sleep in, he stretched out his legs, hitting the opposite wall, and leaned back. A pistol in one hand, he stroked it with the other, waiting to hear Charlene’s sweet voice over the receiver from the bug he’d planted in the kitchen and bedroom of her house, and contemplated murder.
The taste to kill a man hadn’t hit him until big fuzz got in the way of what he wanted.
His mind flashed back to Washington, D.C. One evening at a bar, he met a guy named Razor, wearing a brown leather jacket, a couple tear drops tattooed on his face. The man intrigued him. They talked for hours. Razor told him, “Once you get the taste of taking a life, you’ll crave more.”