Passion's Dream (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 1)

by Julie Shelton

  Fear won out.

  She walked across the mosaic floor of the terrace, to stand at the edge, waiting for him to return and start the next row. She knew the minute he saw her. Because, even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark aviators, she could feel them on her as the mower inexorably drew closer and closer.

  No, she couldn’t see his eyes, but she could see those high cheekbones, strong chin, and luscious, sculpted, sensuous lips. He was…the only word she could think of was beautiful. Beautiful in that sleek, powerful way a predator is beautiful. He stopped directly opposite her, turned off the motor and climbed down, his ground-eating strides closing the distance between them. Without a word, he simply held out his hand and she placed her phone on his upturned palm. Okay, so obviously he’s already talked to Uncle Everett. Either that or he reads minds.

  She watched as he hit redial, his expression becoming more and more grim as it just kept ringing. He disconnected and dialed information. “Palm Beach, Florida. Ryan’s Roost.” He listened, then dialed the number he’d been given. After a few seconds, his chin lifted and his entire persona changed. “Ah, oui,” he said in a French accent that would have fooled any Frenchman, and a seductive smile any Frenchman worthy of the name would have killed to own, “bonjour, mademoiselle, je m’apelle Jacques Chouinard. I am calleeng from La Gallerie du Nord, in Paris, France. May I know to whom I have ze honor of speakeeng?” Pause. “Ah, Mademoiselle Forsythe. May I say you ’ave a very lovely voice.”

  Leah just stared at him. Oh. Migod. For just an instant she envied Mademoiselle Forsythe, being on the receiving end of that delicious voice.

  “Tell me, ma cherie, would eet be possible to speak to Monsieur Ryan? I am returneeng hees call.” Clay darted a glance at Leah. “Out of ze country, you say?” The accent was fake, but his surprise was not. “But, I do not understand. I just received a call from heem, from zees very numbaire, een fact. How eez zees possible? Eez anyone else, perhaps, een your office? Ah, I see. I see. Ze gallery ees closed for ze summaire, you say? Zen what are you doeeng zere, if I may ask, ma cherie?” His voice became teasing, almost flirty, as if he really were a French gallery owner talking to Mademoiselle Forsythe. “Ah, oui. Je comprends. Collecteeng ze mail. But of course. Eez zaire, peut-etre, anozer numbaire where Monsieur Ryan may be reached? Eet eez very urgent zat I speak weeth heem. Eh bien. Merci. Merci mille fois, mademoiselle. Au revoir.”

  Without looking up, he lowered the phone, dialed another number, and pressed Speaker. When a male voice said “Hello,” Clay said in the thickest Texas accent Leah had ever heard, “Howdy there, this is Tex Bodine out from Amarillo way? Am ah speakin’ to Peter Ryan?”

  “Yes, sir, my name is Peter Ryan.”

  “The Peter Ryan who owns that fancy-ass art place in Palm Beach?”

  “One of my galleries is in Palm Beach, yes. Is there a particular piece you’re interested in, Mr. Bodine?”

  “No, no, ah’m gonna be stayin’ at Mar-a-Lago next week, playin’ a little golf with The Donald, and a frienda mine told me ah simply had to stop by your place while ah’m there.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Bodine, but I’m afraid the gallery is closed for the summer. Might I suggest you visit our website and leave your email address. Someone will get back to you within twenty-four hours.”

  0-“Well, ah surely will do that, Mister Ryan. Thank you so much. Y’all have a day now, y’hear?” Clay ended the call and looked at Leah, alarmed at the stricken expression on her face. “Was that the man you talked to?”

  She shook her head. “No,” she said, helpless to stop the ice creeping through her veins, chilling her to the bone in spite of the sun’s heat beating down on her head. Her eyes followed his movements as he opened the back of her phone, removed the battery and the SIM card, then turned and tossed all the pieces into a small metal toolbox beneath the seat of the tractor. Then he turned to Leah, noting her pallor, the anxiety prowling in her eyes. He took both her hands in his. They were ice cold. “Tell me what he said to you, word for word.”

  He made no other move to touch her. Which was just as well, she decided. She felt so brittle, she feared she’d shatter at the slightest touch. She was trembling and couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and her words, when they finally came, were halting.

  “H-he said he was…Peter Ryan, a…colleague of Everett Burke’s, and he owned a g-gallery on…Worth Avenue, Ryan’s Roost, had I…heard of it and I said no. Then he said Uncle Everett had told him…a couple of…weeks ago that I was going to be in…P-Palm Beach and he would like to take me out to dinner tonight. And I said yes and he’s…p-picking me up at s-seven.” As she struggled against the hysteria bubbling up in her chest, Clay pulled her into his arms, enveloping her in his heat and his power and his scent, a heady mix of clean, masculine skin and sweat. As he held her, exactly as he had done that long-ago day at the beach, she was swept by a sense of longing so intense, she wanted to cry.

  Instead, she took refuge in anger. Shoving against his chest, she pushed herself out of the comfort of his arms and backed away from him. She stood there, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, random thoughts pecking at her brain like a flock of angry crows. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing here? Better yet, what am I doing here?” She jerked her head and an arm back toward the house. “Whose place is this? Does it even need to be appraised? Is it really going up for auction?” Her voice began to rise, becoming shriller with every word she uttered. “Why did some guy just call me pretending to be a man named Peter Ryan and make a date with me? Who the hell is coming for me at seven o’clock?”

  “I don’t know. But you’re not gonna be here to greet him. Go pack your bags. We’re leaving.”

  “We just got here!”

  He started pulling her toward the house. “I told him this wouldn’t work. I had a bad feeling about this from the very beginning.”

  “Clay!” She dug in her heels and came to a full stop, yanking her hands out of his grasp. “What. The hell. Is going. On?”

  “Okay, before I answer your questions, I just want to go on record as stating that none of this was my idea,” Clay said quietly. “I was against it from the very beginning, and I told your Uncle Everett it wouldn’t work.”

  “Fiancé,” she countered mulishly.

  Clay just smirked. “Right. Well, he was correct about one thing when he offered me this assignment. You are stubborn.”

  “So that’s all this is to you? All I am to you? An assignment? A job? A chance to get it on with the one woman who somehow managed to escape your clutches three years ago?” Whoa. She heard herself saying those words and pressed her lips between her teeth to stop them. Oh, God, no. Please, no. That can’t be true. Please don’t let it be true! Stricken, she grabbed her arms and turned her head away.

  “Leah.” It came out as a sigh, mild, but bristling with frustration. “You know none of that’s true. And if you’ll just calm down, I’ll be happy to tell you what is true.”

  Clay stepped into her, threading his fingers through her hair and lifting the strands away from her head, letting them cascade like a silken waterfall through his fingers before palming her cheek and lifting her face to his. This time she gave into temptation and leaned into his hand with a sigh of contentment, savoring the heat from his body as it soaked into hers, quieting her fears.

  That’s what he did to her, what he gave to her, that deep, inner stillness that allowed her to draw upon it, pulling it around her like a cloak. Her ex-husband’s obsession with her was about to shift into high gear and explode into violence. Yet, she knew that Clay would keep her safe. She also knew that this sex thing between them was about to shift into high gear, too, and explode into something else entirely. And, God help her, she could hardly wait. As he lowered his forehead to hers, she sucked in a breath.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes.” And she did. She didn’t know why. But she did.

  “Even though I’
ve lied to you?”

  “I’ve lied to you, too. So I guess that makes us even.”

  He chuckled. “Not quite. I knew you were lying. You didn’t know I was.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Pause. “Leah.” That’s all. Just her name. Nothing else.

  But it was enough. All resistance gone, she lifted her face to his and he took her mouth in a series of slow, dragging kisses that were both gentle and sweet and full of passion and promise that erupted through her veins like a narcotic. Her belly clenched, spilling more moisture out onto her already soaked underpants and shorts.

  Finally lifting his head, he cleared his throat. “Go pack. I’ll tell Mrs. Murdock we’re leaving. You have thirty minutes.” He turned and started toward the kitchen.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Virginia,” he called back over his shoulder.

  “What’s in Virginia?”

  “Safety.”

  Thirty minutes later he was standing, arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against her bedroom door frame, his large, magnificent male body filling the space. Her heartbeat accelerated and all the moisture in her mouth evaporated. No, she realized, looking at him from her perch on the side of the bed, not just filling it. Commanding it. As he commanded everything and everyone around him, including her. Especially her.

  He shot a glance toward the suitcase standing at the foot of the bed. “Ready?”

  Now, that, Mr. Knight, is one hell of a loaded question. With slow, deliberate movements, she stood up, smoothed her hands down the front of the jeans she’d changed into, and started a slow, deliberate walk toward him, never releasing his gaze. As she approached, he straightened and held out his hands. Without hesitating, she placed hers into them, letting him swallow them up, letting him use them to pull her closer. Until she was less than a foot away, engulfed in his aura of heat and potent masculinity and she knew she was lost.

  As if moving in slow motion, his arms slid around her, pulling her closer still, until their bodies were touching all along her length, mere inches separating their faces. His eyes left hers to drift downward toward her mouth. Hers did the same, watching his perfect lips move forward, parting as he angled his head. She sucked in a breath and before either of them knew it, he was kissing her. And she was kissing him right back. And when the tip of his tongue probed her lips, seeking entry, she opened for him, finally admitting him not only into her mouth, but into her heart and soul as well.

  For the past three years, in spite of the brevity of their encounter on the beach, he had been a phantom presence in the back of her mind. Drawn to him in ways she simply could not fathom or explain, even with no knowledge of who he was or if she would ever see him again, he had become the silent standard by which all other men she’d dated had been measured and found wanting. For the first time in her life she felt…complete, ready to put her heart on the line and hope he didn’t break it. Because if he did, she wasn’t certain she would survive the devastation. Nor could she survive the devastation to her heart if she didn’t let him in.

  His tongue slid in and out of her mouth, rubbing against hers, tangling with hers as she curled her tongue around his, seeking the unspoken promise he was giving her. Arching her back, she thrust her breasts against his chest, her nipples tight and throbbing and poking through the thin material of her cotton tee. They brushed against his shirt, sending an ache rippling through her. Lifting his hand from her back, he placed his palm to her cheek, thrusting his fingers through her hair. With the heel of his hand beneath her jaw, he angled her head upward, lifting his lips from hers and placing them down again, dragging them back and forth across hers, hot and slick, branding her with the emotions soaring through his heart.

  She felt raw and blistered, like an exposed nerve. Her clit ached with an arousal so fierce it frightened her. It throbbed with the staccato beat of her heart, which was so fast it was a wonder she didn’t have a stroke. He lifted his lips and pressed his forehead against hers, eyes closed, the breath sawing raggedly in and out of his lungs.

  But she wasn’t quite ready to stop. Lifting her chin, she sought his mouth again and he let her take it, allowing her to explore until she, too, had to stop to catch her breath. Her hand lifted from his chest to palm his cheek, the mirror image of his hand on her cheek.

  He opened his eyes, softening his hold on her head to a caress. “My name is not Clay Knight,” he began quietly. “It’s Clay Nighthorse.”

  Her eyes flew open in shock. “N-night—“

  “Rosemary was my cousin.”

  Leah took a cleansing breath. “She spoke of you often. Only, she called you ‘Raven’.”

  “That’s the spirit name I was given at birth, and that is how I’m called on the reservation. I added ‘Clay’ because it was more acceptable in the English speaking world.”

  “You grew up on a reservation?”

  “The Jicarillo Apache Nation in northern New Mexico. I didn’t even learn English until I was eight.”

  “I would never have guessed,” Leah said, a sense of wonderment in her soft voice. “Rosemary loved you so much. She was so proud of you when you became a SEAL.”

  “She came to my graduation from basic training. And that was the last time I saw or heard from her. She fled to San Francisco to marry Everett Burke. I blamed him for that.”

  “He urged her to call you.”

  “I know. Burke told me when he hired me. He also told me about the abuse she’d suffered. I’m ashamed I never picked up on it, never did anything about it.” But I will, he vowed silently. For Rosemary.

  “You’ve met Uncle Everett?”

  “Yes. We met at his gallery in Richmond, Virginia. I have a ranch nearby. He’s known all along that I was the man you encountered on the beach. His private investigator found out.”

  Leah’s eyes widened. “But he told me the P. I. couldn’t find you.”/

  “Because by that time I had shipped out and was unreachable. He felt it was kinder to let you think that our encounter was just a one-time, chance thing and that you’d forget all about it.”

  Her expression softened and the hand cupping his cheek turned that gesture into a caress. “Except I never did.”

  “Neither did I.”

  Their heads moved toward each other, their lips meeting in a soft, sweet kiss that sent Leah’s arousal soaring off the charts. He pulled back just far enough to look into her eyes, his own black and smoky and swirling with a mixture of lust and…something else. Something she couldn’t readily identify.

  “You touched something inside me that day on the beach, Leah, something no other woman has ever even come close to touching. You’ve haunted me for the last three years. But I didn’t know who you were until Burke called my sometimes boss, Adam Sinclair, and explained the situation. Adam owns a security company and I sometimes help him out. He arranged for us to meet. As soon as Burke showed me your photo, there was no way I could say no. Except I can no longer keep you safe in this location. So I’m taking you to a place where I have friends who can help me do that part of the job so I can devote all my attention to the other part of my job.”

  “And what part is that?” Her whisper was barely audible.

  “Making love to you.”

  Oh, God. Her belly did a nosedive at the sensual promise in his voice.

  “And I am going to make love to you, Leah.” She stifled a groan as her belly clenched and wetness seeped from her. “Every way a man can love a woman. Slow and sweet, hard and fast, and everything in between. I am going to claim every inch of your delectable body and make it mine. Make you mine. Until neither one of us knows where one leaves off and the other begins.

  Oh, God, those words. Those sweet, honeyed words. Her pussy clenched on emptiness, desperate to be filled. She took a deep breath. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” She meant it to be light and teasing, but it didn’t come out that way. Instead it came out hoarse and strained and heavy with need.
<
br />   “You have no idea.” He gave her one last, swift kiss and released her from his hold. Brushing past her, he walked over to the bed and retrieved her suitcase. “Come on,” he took her elbow and turned her toward the hall. “We need to get out of here.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Do you think Richard is behind this?” she asked, practically running to keep up with his long strides, not really wanting to know the answer.

  “Yes.”

  She stopped, but he kept going, so she really did have to run to catch up. “Well, don’t beat around the bush or anything,” she puffed, out of breath, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “Okay.” They passed through the kitchen and out the back door into the cloistered walkway leading to the garage, luggage wheels clicking along the flagstones. “Richard Gordon is a sociopath who blames you for causing all his problems. After all, none of them began until after you left him. So it’s all your fault and you have to be punished. He wants you to suffer, as you’ve made him suffer.”

  She sighed. “He was so charming when I first met him.”

  Clay stowed their bags in the trunk of the BMW and came around to open the passenger door, closing it after she was seated and buckled in. Then he walked around the car and slid into the driver’s seat. “Most sociopaths are. They can charm the dust off a buffalo. They use that to blind you to the fact that they’re also manipulative, controlling, and incapable of feeling guilt, shame, remorse or love.” He put the car into gear, backed out, and started down the driveway. As soon as they’d passed through the open gates, he stopped the car and got out. The trunk opened and he retrieved a length of heavy chain and a padlock. As soon as the gates were closed again, he wrapped the chain around them and padlocked them shut. The security system he’d installed was fully armed. If Peter Ryan, or whoever the fuck he was, actually showed up and tried to break in, he would be arrested. He returned to the car and pulled out onto the road. Leah bid a silent good-bye to the Atlantic Ocean and the lush, tropical beauty of south Florida, not sure where they were going, exactly, but reasonably certain it was not going to be a beachfront paradise. “He kept you constantly off-balance, didn’t he?”