“And I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where that someplace is,” was Burke’s sardonic reply.
“No, I’m not. The fewer people who know, the safer she’ll be. I’ll let her call you tomorrow night on a secure sat phone. I’ll try to give you an update every couple of days or so, but otherwise, there will be limited contact. Don’t worry, Burke. I’ll keep her safe.”
“I don’t doubt that for a minute, my boy. I have every faith in you.”
“One more thing. I want you to send a photo of Richard Gordon to this phone. It’s a secure number and can’t be traced.”
“Will do, my boy. Take good care of my girl.”
“My girl,” Clay corrected. He hung up to Burke’s laughter and made another call, talking briefly before turning off the phone, then the light. Making his way through the dark, he rounded the far side of the bed, lifted the covers and crawled beneath them. Good thing it was a king size bed, because Leah was right smack dab in the middle. Careful not to disturb her, he aligned his body alongside hers, and rolled her onto her side so that her back was to his front. He adjusted her head onto the cushion made by his shoulder and upper arm, and pulled her hips against his, fitting his cock between her cheeks like a hot dog in a bun.
Without waking up, she let out a deep sigh of contentment, burrowed her ass deeper into the cradle of his groin and relaxed once again into sleep.
Clay nuzzled his face against her damp hair and shut his eyes, savoring the sweet bundle she made in his arms, trying to quash visions of her on his ranch. But they kept coming. Visions of her laughing with him, working beside him, riding horses out to his favorite meditation spot. Visions of her tied to his bed, legs spread wide in invitation, her hair spread out across the pillows like a cloud of spun gold, burnished by the sun. On her knees before him, worshipping his cock. Christ! He had to stop thinking that way. But the thoughts kept coming and it was a long time before he fell asleep.
* * * *
Leah drifted up out of a deep sleep to the feel of moist, soft lips kissing their way across her shoulder, a large hand palming her breast, a human furnace warming her back and an unmistakable erection nestling into the cleft of her ass. Oh my. She let out a sigh and pressed back against the man caressing her awake. Richard had never touched her like this, nor had anyone else in her life, as if she were beautiful. As if she were desired. As if she were…loved. She could get used to this.
“Good morning, ohpitsa.” Clay’s morning voice was a sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed rasp in her ear that made her belly clench, releasing a flood of moisture between her legs.
“Good morning yourself.” She cleared her throat. Her morning voice was just a croak.
Clay slid his hand from her breast, down her belly, and around her waist. As he pulled her body even closer to his, he brushed his lips across her nape, his warm breath stirring the fine hairs there. “As much as I would love to spend the morning making love to you,” he murmured, regret heavy in his voice, “we really need to get going. I’d like to be home by early afternoon so I can get all my safety measures into place.”
“You really think I’m in so much danger?” she asked, fighting the wave of apprehension that swept through her. It was difficult to wrap her head around the fact that someone was actually trying to kill her. Someone. She snorted. Not just someone. Her ex-husband. In spite of the heat pouring off of Clay, she shivered. How screwed up is that? My ex-husband wants me dead!
Clay’s arm tightened around her. “Don’t worry, baby. He’s not gonna get anywhere near you.”
They dressed without showering. After breakfast at the pancake house, they were back on the road by eight thirty a.m. When they reached Richmond, Clay turned west on I-64, but eventually turned off of that to take several narrow two-lane highways through rolling foothills as he headed in the general direction of the Blue Ridge mountains.
“This is breathtaking,” Leah commented more than once as the top of each rise revealed more and more verdant or wooded vistas dotted with a riot of color from pink and white dogwoods and purple redbuds to wild azaleas and mountain laurels. Wisteria vines, with their enormous, grape-like clusters of hanging purple blooms, draped casually over entire copses of trees. “So different from San Francisco.”
“Yeah,” Clay agreed, “you couldn’t pay me to live in San Francisco—or any big city, for that matter. It feels claustrophobic to me.”
“Actually,” she confessed, “it was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic to me, too. Oh, look!” she exclaimed in excitement. “There’s a sign for Passion Lake!” The enormous billboard showed a photo of a couple of log cabins set amidst a stand of trees with azaleas and mountain laurels in full, glorious bloom. There was a deep blue lake in the background with a fishing dock extending out into the water. A smaller vignette showed a long shot of the picturesque Main Street with its large Victorian houses and boutique shops. A second vignette showed children cannon-balling off the end of the dock into the lake. The sign read “Seven Miles to Passion Lake, your fishing, camping, and boating paradise. Fun for the entire family!
Elegant Victorian Bed & Breakfast Bars and restaurants
Camping Specialty shops
Riding trails Hiking Trails
White sand beach Open year ’round. Just follow the signs.
“It looks so inviting,” Leah exclaimed. ‘I can’t wait to see it for myself.”
“We’ll swing through town and eat lunch at Katie’s Barbecue. She has the best pulled pork sandwich I’ve ever put in my mouth. I didn’t tell anybody I was coming back, so there probably won’t be much to eat at the house. We’ll get some groceries at the Mini-Mart on the way home.”
They passed two more billboards advertising Passion Lake, then turned left at the clearly marked sign onto a narrow, blacktop road that wound through a forest full of tall pines, flowering trees and bushes. Mother Nature at her most resplendent, Leah thought. Like she’d taken off her socks, let down her hair, and just frolicked about strewing color and beauty as far as the eye could see. Leah leaned forward in her seat, enthralled.
The first house came into view, the three-story Victorian Clay had told her about, perched on its hill beneath three massive oak trees, looking regal and aloof. And big! Its Italianate features included a square, central tower with a steep, pitched roof, and a huge round tower at one end with a Turkish dome roof. Balancing this, at the other end of the house, were rounded, second-story turrets at both the front and back corners. The entire house was festooned with ornate gingerbread trim. The colors were a mixture of stone, brick, and sand, with dark rust accents. A sign on the front lawn said it was the Passion Lake Bed and Breakfast.
“Wow,” Leah said, “no wonder the owner didn’t want it demolished. That would have been a serious crime. So, this lady—” She paused, waiting for him to supply her name.
“Grace Porter, or Granny Grace as she likes to be called.”
“She runs the Bed and Breakfast as well as Granny Grace’s Tea Shoppe and Toy Emporium? How old is she?”
“I believe she was ninety-three on her last birthday. The entire town celebrated.”
“Goodness, that’s a lot of work for a ninety-three-year old,” Leah exclaimed.
“Well, most of the work at the B and B is done by her youngest daughter and son-in-law, Alicia and Ben Cobb. She just drops in periodically to chat and socialize. She spends most of her time in there,” he said, ducking his head to indicate a second, only slightly less grand Victorian house, painted slate blue with white gingerbread trim next door to the Bed and Breakfast. A shady parking lot filled with cars occupied the space between the two buildings. A wooden plank hanging over the steps leading up to a wide verandah and a grand entrance read Granny Grace’s Tea Shoppe and Toy Emporium. “The stairs in the Victorian got to be a bit much for her,” Clay went on, “so she had an elevator installed in the back of the Tea Shoppe and now has an apartment on the second floor. Dottie, her eldest daughter, lives there with her and looks af
ter her.”
They passed a couple of side streets, more vintage houses that had been turned into shops, even, incredibly, a public library. They finally approached what looked more like a business district with two- and three-story brick buildings on both sides of the street, which, for the next few blocks at any rate, became at least five lanes wide. Down the center of the space was a wide, grassy median with Victorian style wrought iron lamp posts, beds of colorful flowers, and a charming gazebo. Crepe myrtle trees in shades of pink, fuchsia, lavender, and white flanked the brick sidewalk that meandered through the entire median. The junction of every crosswalk was marked by terra cotta planters spilling flowers around the bases of the tall, stately juniper trees that rose above them. Enormous hanging baskets filled with even more flowers hung from the lamp posts. Parking spaces angled in toward the median on both sides of the street, leaving only one lane for traffic on either side. The sidewalks in front of the store fronts were also wide, with planters and trees and mulched beds full of begonias and tall snapdragons arranged in rows like a rainbow.
“Wow,” Leah breathed in awe. “A bunch of hardened, alpha male, bad-ass commando types designed this?”
Clay laughed. “No, we hired a landscape architect to design the entire town around the houses we restored. Since most of them were Victorian or Queen Anne style, we decided we wanted kind of a ‘Gay Nineties’ vibe.”
“Well, that’s exactly what you got. It’s perfect.” She paused, not wanting to appear nosy, then decided what the hell. “Soooo. Did one of you rob a bank or something to be able to afford all of this?”
Clay laughed. “We all have the same genius of a stockbroker, Adam Sinclair’s Uncle Joe. He made us all filthy rich. Adam’s my former XO—that’s Executive Officer to you civilian types. He owns his own private security firm. I work for him occasionally, when he needs an extra man.”
“Like now?”
“I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing it for you.” He angled the BMW into a parking space, turned off the engine and turned in his seat to face her. “Actually, that’s not true either. I’m doing this for us. Because I’ve already lost you once and the thought of losing you again just rips me apart inside.”
Leah just stared at him, unable to swallow, unable to speak through the tightness in her throat. She turned her head to look out the window, studying downtown Passion Lake while she struggled to deal with the implications of his words.
Katie’s Barbecue was on the right in between a jewelry store and the Passion Lake Pharmacy. Across the street was the Cakes R Us Bakery and Coffee Shop, a leather goods store, a store featuring hand-carved, wooden objets d’art, and, at the end of the building, a large tack and feed store. The business area continued for several more blocks and featured more shops and restaurants. A few storefronts on both sides of the street were still empty.
“You ready?” Clay asked at last.
“Yeah.”
He patted the top of her thigh, then got out and came around to open her door.
As she slid out of the car and stood before him, he bent his head to give her a quick kiss on the lips. “Let’s go eat.”
They walked into the restaurant hand in hand. The minute they opened door, the mouthwatering aroma of meat slowly roasting over some kind of fragrant fruitwood filled the air and Leah took a deep, appreciative sniff. “Oh, my,” she murmured, “that smells so good and I’m starving.”
The interior of the restaurant was charmingly rustic, with both tables and booths, most of them occupied. As Clay and Leah slid into a red leather booth, a dark-haired, dark-eyed waitress clad in jeans and a red and white checkered shirt approached with their set-ups and menus. “Hi, Clay. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Busy.”
She just chuckled. “Good thing you’re not as stingy with your tips as you are with your words,” she said with a shake of her head. She turned a curious eye toward Leah. “Who’s your friend?”
Leah could see that, in spite of trying to cling to a much younger image through the use of hair dye and heavy make-up, the woman was probably in her forties, maybe even early fifties and had a hard edge about her.
“Katie, this is Leah Stanhope. Leah, this is Katie O’Halloran. She owns the restaurant with her partner, Connie Booth.”
The two women exchanged greetings, then Katie placed their menus in front of them, recited the specials, and left to fill their drink orders and give them a few minutes to decide what they wanted.
“I don’t know what you’re hungry for,” Clay said, pushing the menu to the side without even looking at it, “but I can highly recommend everything here. Even the vegetarian specials are delicious—as long as you order a couple slabs of ribs or a big, juicy steak to go with them.”
Leah laughed. “You sold me. I’ll try the ribs.”
“Good choice.”
Katie brought their iced teas. Grabbing the pen she’d stuck behind her ear, she took her order pad out of her apron pocket. “What’ll you have, folks?” she asked with a bright smile.
“We’ll have the all-you-can-eat baby back ribs,” Clay said, “with fries and corn bread, and the salad bar”
Katie parked her pen back behind her ear. “Y’all can go on up to the salad bar any time,” she said, gathering the menus. “You want me to wait around ten minutes before turning this in? That’ll give you time to eat your salads.”
“Sure,” Clay said, sliding out of his side of the booth and holding his hand out to assist Leah out of hers.
While they were eating their salads, Leah glanced up to see a man in a khaki uniform enter the restaurant and come to a stop. He took off his aviators, hooked an earpiece over his shirt pocket, and looked over the crowd, briefly resting his gaze on the back of Clay’s head before moving it and settling it on her. He started toward them, and Leah’s forkful of lettuce stopped in mid-air, halfway to her mouth. “I think that red light you ran two years ago is about to catch up with you,” she murmured, unable to keep her eyes off the man as he approached their table. Well, really, what red-blooded, American woman could take her eyes off of him? Black hair, broad shoulder, narrow hips, a swagger for a walk? He’s gorgeous! I mean, mouth-watering, drop-dead, drool-worthy gorgeous! Hollywood gorgeous.
“Raven,” he said.
“Sheriff,” Clay responded without looking up.
Not bothering to wait for an invitation, he slid onto the bench seat next to Clay, scooting him over with his hips, and held out his hand across the table toward Leah, who lifted hers automatically to be swallowed up in his. “Caleb Rafferty,” he said in a deep, baritone voice with a smile that was made magical by the unexpected appearance of two dimples on either side of his beautiful mouth. “And you must be Leah.”
Startled, she turned her gaze to Clay, only to see that he was smiling, too, watching her reaction. Firming her grip, she squared her shoulders and replied, “Very well, if I absolutely must. Everybody’s gotta be somebody, I guess.”
Caleb laughed, a move that revealed even, white teeth and crinkled the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “You’d better watch yourself, Raven,” he said, still looking at Leah, “she looks like she could be a handful.”
Oh, I hope so. At the look on Leah’s face, Clay chuckled. “Caleb’s the sheriff of Passion Lake,” he explained. “I sent him a photo of your ex so he and his brothers can be on the lookout for him.”
“My brother Simon runs a private charter business and a helicopter sight-seein’ business out at the Passion Lake airfield,” Caleb explained, finally releasing Leah’s hand. “And my brother Ash is a professional photographer. Don’t worry, Leah, we won’t let him get to you.”
Wow. She turned to Clay. “Did you tell everyone?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “Only two newspapers and the local talk radio guy.”
“Don’t worry, Leah,” Caleb laughed again. “The only people who know are people who matter. If your ex somehow manages to find out where you are, and that’s a huge i
f, by the way, he’s not gonna be able to sneak up on you. We’ll know the instant he steps foot inside this town and we’ll shadow his every move.”
“You don’t know how resourceful he is.”
“Not nearly as resourceful as a bunch of former SEALs,” Caleb assured her with a grin. He slid out of the booth. “Pleasure meetin’ you, Leah, I’ll see you around. But right now I’m leavin’ so you can devote your full attention to Katie’s phenomenal barbecue.” He winked. “You’ll thank me for it later. Enjoy.” He clapped Clay on the shoulder. “Raven.”
“Hollywood,” Clay replied to his retreating back just as Katie approached carrying a tray with two heaping platters full of food. Leah smirked. Hollywood. Certainly appropriate. Nice to know I wasn’t overreacting.
For the next half hour conversation was pretty much limited to moans and groans of appreciation as Leah and Clay tackled the mountain of ribs. Finally, unable to eat another bite, she tossed her last bone onto the growing pile and sank back against the padded back of the booth, closing her eyes and placing her hand over her belly. “Oh, my God, I’ve never eaten so much in my entire life. I’m never going to move again. You’re going to have to roll me out of here on a gurney.”
“They keep a couple in the back for just such occasions,” Clay assured her around the mouthful of succulent pork he was busy gnawing off a bone.
“Seriously. I can’t move.”
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll carry you.”
“I just ate my weight in ribs. You’d need a crane to lift me.”
He smirked. “Oh, ye of little faith. Besides,” he gave her a leering wink, “I have the perfect exercise for getting rid of any unsightly bulges you may have acquired. Not that I see any,” he hastened to assure her. “Obviously, I would have to perform a much more in-depth, thorough inspection before I could state with any authority whether you have them or not. But don’t worry. I have a fully-equipped inspection facility at home, where we can put this question to rest once and for all. Although,” he added straight-faced, “I reserve the right to conduct further inspections as I feel they are warranted.”
Passion's Dream (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 1) Page 13