Til Death Do Us Part

by Beverly Barton

  “And the money I’m paying you will buy you that farm.”

  “Yeah.”

  The sheet that had barely covered Cleo’s breasts slipped downward. When she reached out to grab it, Roarke jerked her hand away. The sheet drifted slowly to her waist, leaving her breasts exposed to the cool air and Roarke’s hot appraisal. Her nipples puckered. He ran the tip of his finger over one jutting point and then the other. Cleo held her breath as shivers of awareness rippled through her.

  “I didn’t know it would be this way,” he admitted, lifting himself up and over her, bracing his body with his hands planted, palms down, on the bed.

  “What way?” she asked, her breathing quickening, her body straining upward pleadingly.

  “I didn’t know that once we made love, we wouldn’t be able to keep our hands off each other.”

  “It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Cleo placed her arms around his neck and brought his head downward, his lips closer to hers. “I didn’t realize that I could ever feel like this. It’s a raging hunger, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what it is.” He parted her thighs and slid between them. “And I want to feed that raging hunger again right now.”

  “So do I.” Spreading her thighs, she opened herself up fully to his invasion. The moment he entered her, she lifted her hips and draped her legs around his waist.

  Roarke took control of their mating until the final moments when Cleo’s body dictated the rules of release for both of them. She moved against him, taking his thrusts and returning them, bringing them both closer and closer to completion. When she tightened around him and cried out in earth-shattering pleasure, his body took its cue from hers and spiraled out of control into a jetting explosion.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD.”

  Cleo opened her eyes and stared up into Roarke’s handsome face. Smiling, she stretched like a contented cat, then reached up and draped her arms around his neck, bringing his mouth down to hers for a morning kiss.

  Roarke took charge of the kiss immediately, knowing how easily it could get out of control if he didn’t end it quickly. He wasn’t sure he liked the way Cleo could turn him inside out, the way she could make him want her so desperately. He wasn’t used to a woman having that much power over him.

  He removed her arms from around his neck and sat down on the edge of the bed. She snuggled against him.

  “Good morning, Simon.”

  “Good morning, Cleo.”

  She eased away from him and sat up straight. Allowing the sheet to slide down to her waist, she stared at him and smiled. “You’ve already showered and dressed. How long have you been up?”

  He tried not to look at her full, round breasts that beckoned to him, pleading for his touch. Damn, if she didn’t cover herself, he’d be lost. And this morning wasn’t the right time to fall back into bed and make love to Cleo. This morning was the time for business—serious business.

  He shot up off the bed, crossed the room and went into the closet. Emerging with a blue satin robe, he tossed it to her. “Put that on. You’re far too tempting the way you are right now, Cleo Belle.”

  Lifting the robe from where it had fallen over her lap, Cleo grinned at her husband, then slowly slipped into the robe. “There, is that better?”

  “Much.” Roarke sat back down on the edge of the bed. “We have a lot to accomplish today. I’ve been up a couple of hours.”

  Scooting to the edge of the bed beside Roarke, she laid her hand on his arm. “What have you been doing during the two hours you’ve been up?”

  “I made some phone calls—” he nodded toward the sitting room “—from in there. I didn’t want to disturb you. You were sleeping so soundly.”

  “I was exhausted. Your wore me out,” she said teasingly as she stroked the inside of his wrist with the tip of her index finger.

  He grinned, but quickly forced his mouth into a sober line and grasped Cleo’s shoulders. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to make love to you again right now, honey. But we’re expected downstairs for breakfast in about twenty minutes, so unless you want to greet your family looking the way you do right now—”

  “Why are we having breakfast with my family this morning?”

  “Because it’s time.”

  Standing, Roarke dragged Cleo up and out of bed, then gave her a gentle shove toward the bathroom. When she halted, turned around and gave him a questioning stare, he shook his head.

  “Hey, do you believe I’d send you in there if I thought there was any danger? I checked the bathroom out thoroughly before I took my shower.” Gently clamping his hands down over her shoulders again, he guided her forward. “Just ignore the mess.”

  She hesitated at the closed door. “Why is it time for us to have breakfast downstairs? And who did you call this morning?”

  “I called the police and spoke to a Sheriff Bacon. He was very accommodating. Seems he knew your uncle George and thought highly of him. He’s going to check into a few things for me.”

  “I see.” When he gave her another shove, she balked. “Who else did you call?”

  “I phoned the exterminator who regularly services the house. Someone named Roy Bendall. He’ll be out this morning.”

  “Neither phone call explains why we’re eating breakfast with the family,” Cleo said.

  “I remembered something from when I read over the information about the members of your family that I asked you to compile for me.”

  “What did you remember?”

  “That your uncle Perry is a retired college professor, whose background was in entomology. He’d know everything there is to know about the brown recluse, wouldn’t he?”

  “You’re planning to tell my family what happened last night and then watch how they react, aren’t you? You’re going to cross-examine Uncle Perry and see if you can make him sweat.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Do you think Uncle Perry is behind the threats on my life and the problems at the plant?” Cleo asked.

  “It’s possible, isn’t it? He and his entire family would benefit if you were out of the way.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Uncle Perry and I have never been close. He’s always seemed to resent me.”

  When Roarke gave her another nudge, she opened the bathroom door and disappeared inside, closing the door behind her. She stood perfectly still for several minutes as she surveyed the area, noting the total disarray. There didn’t appear to be an inch of her private bath that Roarke hadn’t examined. She shivered as she remembered that there wasn’t an inch of her own body that Roarke hadn’t examined. Shutting her eyes, she leaned her head back against the door and sighed deeply. The moment she thought about their passionate lovemaking, Cleo’s body responded to the memory. Her nipples puckered; her femininity throbbed. How was it possible to want him again so soon?

  Making her way carefully across the cluttered tile floor, Cleo watched for any movement, the slightest sign that even one spider might have escaped annihilation. With an unsteady hand, she reached down and picked up one of the scattered clean towels from the floor. Reaching inside the glass-enclosed shower, she turned on the brass faucets and started the water flow.

  Taking one final look around the room, she stepped inside the shower enclosure. Filling the net body scrub with scented liquid soap, Cleo washed her arms and shoulders, then hesitated at her breasts. They were a little tender, her nipples sore from Roarke’s diligent attention. As she rubbed the lather over her breasts, she sucked in her breath as a tingling sensation spiraled outward and downward, reaching her feminine core.

  She had never known that making love could be so all-consuming, so totally, completely, earth-shattering. Paine Emerson had been her first and only lover, but he’d been a boy of twenty-two, and she now realized that he’d been an inexperienced, inept lover. If she hadn’t been so infatuated, so youthfully, foolishly in love with him, her intimate moments with him would have been a great
disappointment.

  Having had Simon Roarke as a lover, Cleo now understood how sexual desire could dominate a person’s life. And if that desire was combined with other equally strong emotions, the results could be explosive. And that’s exactly what her feelings for Roarke were—explosive. With each passing day she grew to like and respect her husband more and more. He was, as Pearl had told her, a fine man.

  Yes, that’s exactly what Simon was. A fine man. A man she not only needed in her life, but very much wanted.

  As rivulets of water cascaded over her, Cleo circled her belly with the nylon net scrub. Was she already pregnant? Had her husband given her a child during their hours of hot, passionate lovemaking?

  The thought of being pregnant, of carrying Roarke’s baby inside her, created a warm happiness deep in her heart. Someday she could tell their child what a good man his father had been, could honestly say that their union had meant more to her than a business deal. But how could she ever explain why Roarke wasn’t a part of his life? Why the child’s own father hadn’t wanted anything to do with him?

  Stilling the circling motion of her hand, Cleo clutched the net scrub, then tossed it onto the floor. While she rinsed the foam from her body, she tried to stop thinking about being pregnant, about the possibility that Roarke’s son—or daughter—could have taken root in her womb.

  The longer it took her to become pregnant, the longer Roarke would remain a part of her life. He couldn’t leave her until he fulfilled all his obligations. As much as she longed to be pregnant, she hoped that she wasn’t. Not yet. Not until she found a way to persuade Roarke to stay with her during her pregnancy and afterward help her bring up their child.

  “THEY’RE EATING OUT on the patio, by the pool,” Pearl said. “I’ll bring your plates out directly. We’re having blueberry pancakes this morning. Coffee and juice are on the serving cart out there, Mr. Roarke.”

  “Has everyone come down?” Cleo asked.

  “Everyone,” Pearl said. “Y’all are the last ones, but folks understand your being late, since y’all are still honeymooners.”

  Cleo willed herself not to blush. Before this morning there had been no truth to the charade they’d been enacting as happy newlyweds. But after last night, she felt quite a bit like a deflowered virgin bride, and was afraid the aftereffects of sexual pleasure hung over her like a bright, shiny halo, proclaiming her wedded bliss to the whole world.

  “Pearl, I’m expecting several visitors this morning,” Roarke told the housekeeper. “I believe all three of them will arrive while Cleo and I are at breakfast. I want you to be sure to announce each gentleman and bring him directly out to the patio.”

  “Three visitors this morning?” Narrowing her gaze, Pearl stared quizzically at Roarke. “Just what’s going on?”

  “Cleo had some unexpected guests in her bathroom last night.” Roarke took Cleo’s hand in his. “Someone planted half a dozen brown recluse spiders in her bath towels.”

  “Oh, my dear Lord!” Reaching out, Pearl patted Cleo’s cheek. “Them little creatures are dangerous. My baby brother nearly died from one of ’em’s bite. Are you all right, Cleo Belle? Why didn’t—”

  “I’m fine. Roarke killed all of them,” Cleo said.

  “One of our visitors this morning will be the exterminator,” Roarke said.

  “Good. You called Roy Bendall. We don’t want to come across one of them spiders that might have escaped.” Pearl grabbed Roarke’s arm. “If somebody planted the brown recluses in Cleo’s bath towels, then my guess is one of your other visitors will be a lawman.”

  “Sheriff Bacon,” Roarke said. “I understand he was on friendly terms with the late Mr. McNamara.”

  “Phil Bacon’s daddy used to be sheriff before him,” Pearl said. “The McNamaras have always taken a friendly interest in local politics, if you know what I mean.”

  “Pearl, you make it sound as if Uncle George had the local law in his hip pocket.” Cleo shook her head. “And you know that isn’t true. Phil Bacon is as honest as the day is long.”

  “I suppose he’s as honest as a politician gets, and that’s what a sheriff is. Part lawman and part politician,” Pearl said.

  “You’ve got an opinion on everything and everyone, haven’t you, Pearl?” Roarke squeezed Cleo’s hand, then lifted it to his lips.

  Pleased with her husband’s genuine affection, Cleo shivered inside and the tiny shivers radiated pleasure through her whole body.

  Pearl fixed her gaze on Cleo’s and Roarke’s clasped hands. “You’re right about that. I’m an opinionated old woman. And with every passing day, my opinion of you gets better and better.” She stepped directly in front of Roarke and looked up at him. “Who’s this third visitor we’re expecting this morning?”

  “Morgan Kane,” Roarke said. “He flew into Huntsville from Atlanta and is driving here. He’s a private security agent and an investigator.”

  “Looks like it’s going to be a busy morning around here.” Pearl planted her hands on her hips. “I’m sure going to be close by so I can see how the Suttons deal with all the excitement.”

  Hand in hand, Roarke and Cleo walked through the double French doors and outside onto the patio area, near the pool. The entire clan quieted instantly when he and Cleo approached. Only Aunt Beatrice seemed pleased to see them. Cleo leaned over and kissed her aunt on the cheek. Roarke seated her at the far end of the table, then poured two glasses of juice and placed them side by side. After filling two cups with hot coffee, he put one in front of Cleo and the other next to her, then seated himself beside his wife.

  He had deliberately placed himself where he could watch the others. Even the cleverest person sometimes gave himself away with a word or a look, a reaction to something unexpected. Three unexpected visitors might trigger a suspicious response in one of the Suttons. But which one? Roarke wondered as he surveyed the length of the heavy glass-and-metal table and he paused briefly to study each person.

  Even though he automatically excluded Beatrice McNamara from his list of suspects, he let his gaze linger on her. Looking at this woman gave him a preview of what Cleo would probably look like thirty years from now. There was a strong family resemblance. From their red hair and green eyes to their petite bodies and small, delicate bone structure. Cleo could have easily been the child Beatrice never had.

  “We’re simply delighted that y’all decided to finally join the family for a meal,” Oralie said as she lifted the Haviland china cup to her lips.

  “I can’t say that I blame Cleo for wanting to keep her new husband all to herself.” Daphne licked a drop of syrup from the side of her mouth. “I know if I had a husband like Roarke, I’d keep him locked in my bedroom for a month.”

  “Daphne!” Oralie scolded. “I will not tolerate such disgraceful talk at my breakfast table.”

  “Don’t upset yourself, Mother.” Trey folded the newspaper behind which he’d been buried and laid it on the table between his plate and Marla’s. “You know as well as I do that Daffie loves to shock you almost as much as she loves to needle Cleo.”

  “What a thing to say.” Oralie smiled faintly. “You’ll give Mr. Roarke the wrong impression of our family, dear.”

  “I imagine Mr. Roarke has already formed an opinion of us, and our pretending to be anything other than what we are won’t fool him,” Daphne told her mother, then stared directly at Roarke. “Aren’t I right about that, Simon?” She spoke his name in a sultry drawl, turning the pronunciation of his name into an invitation. “You’ve got us all sized up, haven’t you? I’ll bet you’ve even narrowed down the suspects, eliminating Aunt Beatrice because she adores Cleo so, and Pearl and Ezra for the same reason. And of course, no one would suspect sweet, mousy little Marla.”

  “Daphne, you’re a bitch!” Trey snarled.

  Marla Sutton’s pale cheeks flushed. Dropping her chin to her chest, she gazed down into her lap. Roarke tended to agree with Daphne’s assessment. It would be difficult to picture the quiet,
shy, sweet young woman in the role of a potential murderess. Even the woman’s sedate, old-fashioned page-boy haircut and expensive but plain attire added to her overall Jane Eyre appearance.

  But appearances could be deceiving. Roarke had seen too much evil and cruelty, often disguised as sweet innocence, to disregard the possibility that behind Marla Sutton’s gentle facade a killer existed.

  Pearl breezed outside, carrying two plates stacked high with blueberry pancakes. Roarke marveled at how easily the elderly, overweight housekeeper maneuvered. She set one plate in front of Cleo, the other in front of Roarke.

  “Roy Bendall is here,” Pearl announced.

  “Ask him to come on out,” Roarke said. “I want to speak to him, give him some specific instructions before he begins.”

  “Roy Bendall?” Perry Sutton looked at Roarke for the first time. The fork he held quivered in his unsteady hand. “Why is the exterminator here? He’s already been here this month, hasn’t he?”

  Roarke thought that Perry must have once been a very handsome man. Remnants of that youthful beauty still lingered on his lined face, in his large, dark eyes and in the sturdy build of his body. But something had beaten this man, whipped him into a shadow of what he’d once been. Roarke had seen men like that before. Men who had allowed the spark of life to die inside them. Men who had given away their strength and dignity to some carnivorous force whose hunger could never be appeased. He had come close to becoming one of those men. If he’d stayed married to Hope, it could have happened to him.

  “I called Roy Bendall earlier,” Roarke said. “I want him to give Cleo’s suite a going-over.”

  “Why would Cleo’s rooms need inspecting?” Oralie asked.

  “Here he is.” Pearl showed the auburn-haired, freckle-faced Mr. Bendall out onto the patio.

  “Believe me, I don’t know how any spiders could have gotten in Ms. McNamara’s suite,” Roy said. “I can promise you that they didn’t crawl into the house by themselves. Just ask Pearl. I do good work. There’s not so much as an ant in the kitchen.”