Carolina Heat

by Barth, Christi

  “A very refreshing viewpoint I happen to agree with wholeheartedly.” She sank to her knees in front of the suitcase. “Let’s get this over with before I fall asleep right here on the floor.”

  Mark put a steadying hand on her shoulder. She unzipped both bags and quickly emptied them. They worked quietly as a team, shaking out each garment to be sure nothing was hidden in the folds. It only took a few minutes to determine there was nothing for them to find.

  Out of habit, Mark ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He’d spent most of the evening sorting through Annabelle’s story, organizing all the possible angles. “I see three possibilities.”

  “All right Mr. hot-shot researcher. Time to strut your deductive reasoning. Let’s see if you and I circled around to the same theory.”

  “First of all, someone might have already searched her room and taken anything incriminating.”

  “But if someone was in her room, they would’ve taken her computer,” Annabelle pointed out.

  “True—which brings me to my second option. Vanessa didn’t find anything, and therefore didn’t leave clues behind.”

  “Nope. Doesn’t work for me either. If she wasn’t on the right track, why did she disappear?”

  “Exactly. So possibility number three has to be the right one.” Mark beamed at her in triumph.

  “Which would be what, exactly?”

  “The bad guys were never in her room. Everything we possibly need to know is on her computer. We just have to wait for your brother to hack into it.”

  “Looks as if you and I are on the same page.”

  Mark detected a grudging respect in her tone. It was a first step.

  Annabelle sat back on her heels. “It’s certainly the best-case scenario. Realistically though, I only expect to find a few basic leads. If there was anything truly substantial, Vanessa would’ve gone straight to the police, or at the very least, shot Ralph an email letting him know the trail was hot.”

  “What’s our next move?” Mark asked.

  “It may not be much, but the missing book from the plantation is all we have to go on. I think tomorrow would be a good time to pay Lamont Prescott a visit.”

  Fat chance. “He’s a very prominent attorney. It won’t be easy to get an appointment on such short notice—especially if he is trying to hide something.”

  She gave his cheek a playful pat. “You, sir, have forgotten the power of the press. The lure of the media. Once I mention Prescott Hall will be featured in my article, I have no doubt he’ll find time to see me.”

  Mark cocked an eyebrow. “This is getting to be one heck of an article. Are you really going to write it?”

  “I can’t let all those historical tidbits you keep tossing at me go to waste, can I?”

  “But isn’t a travel article kind of a fluff piece for you?”

  “It was Vanessa’s article to begin with, so I have to finish it for her. It’s what she’d want.” She ducked her head, then shrugged. “But I’d do it anyway. I love writing travel stories. I got my start writing for Wanderlust. It’s always a challenge to capture the character of a city; make it more than just a collection of shops, restaurants and hotels. If you do it right, the words on the page turn into sounds and smells and textures, like a magic carpet transporting you through the city.”

  Mark saw the flush in her cheeks, heard the passion in her voice, and the bottom dropped out of his world. Finally. It was hard to believe, but sitting in front of him was someone who understood. “I know,” he said.

  “You know what?”

  “I know exactly what that feels like—but from the other end. When I do my research, people wonder how I stay awake, paging through thousand-year-old records of grain harvests or estate ledgers. But I take all of it and reconstruct a town, a kingdom, or even a civilization. Every tiny bit of information breathes life back into history.”

  Annabelle’s mouth curved. “You constantly surprise me, Mark Dering.”

  “If it makes you smile like that, I’ll plan on doing it a whole lot more often,” he drawled. He leaned in and captured her beautiful smile beneath his lips. His kiss was hard and possessive, but he drew back almost as soon as he started.

  “I’d best be going. It’s late.” Raw, male pride swelled as he noticed her body still leaned towards him, lips still parted as if waiting for him to return.

  “Oh yes, of course.” Annabelle followed him to the door.

  “Call me as soon as you finagle your way into Prescott’s schedule. I'll pick you up and we can drive over there together.”

  “You wait and see. I bet I get us an appointment before noon tomorrow, Mr. Skeptical.”

  “Sugar, I just hope you’re right.” He tilted her chin up with one finger and looked into her eyes. “Be sure to lock the door after me. I don’t want you getting into any more trouble tonight.”

  “I’ve taken care of myself in worse situations than this, I’ll have you know.”

  “You are adorable when you get all high and mighty.” He chuckled as she jerked her shoulder away. “Look, you obviously know what you’re doing. I don’t doubt your journalistic ability or your self-sufficiency. But like it or not, it’s different this time. I’m involved; not just with chasing this story, but with you. And I want to be sure we both stay in one piece long enough to figure out where we’re going.”

  “Okay.” Annabelle nodded. Then she closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath and leaned against the doorjamb. “There you go again, sweeping my feet out from under me.”

  “It has become a rather enjoyable habit.”

  She opened her eyes, but stared fixedly at the floor. “I honestly don’t know what to do when you say things like that.”

  “You don’t have to do anything.” Mark stroked her cheek and marveled at the softness of her skin.

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “You think way too much already, darlin’.”

  She made a sound of frustration. “I don’t know what to say—”

  “Don’t say anything. Just let yourself feel.” He swore, and closed the gap between them. A man could only resist for so long. He tried to do the right thing, tried to leave. But when she stood there, a mass of softness and confusion, looking so inviting, what was he supposed to do?

  Mark lifted the heavy mass of her hair and nibbled on the back of her neck. She shivered reflexively. He continued around to the front of her neck and worked his way down. She swayed closer in an unspoken invitation. He took both hands and cupped her breasts together, and ran his tongue along the hollow between them. Annabelle pressed tightly against him, but it wasn’t enough. The need to touch her skin was overwhelming.

  “Oh, Mark,” she breathed in his ear. His thumbs brushed over her already taut nipples, making her arch her back in an effort to fill his hands even more. He ran his fingers under the lacy edge of her bra, teasing both of them. His lips reversed their trail, back up her neck but hovering just short of her mouth.

  In a move that delighted him, she yanked his shirt out of his pants and slid her hands underneath. The feeling of her soft hands finally on him melted his attempts at restraint. Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her face up and kissed her. It was a searing, sizzling kiss that almost ripped his tonsils out. Their tongues mated in a sensual thrust and parry that drove them both wild.

  She broke away first, and literally pushed him out the open door. A wide smile lit up her face.

  “You have to go home now,” she said.

  “You’re probably right. In fact, I think we mentioned it before.”

  “Yes, well, this time you actually have to walk through the front door. Not to repeat ourselves, but it is late, and tomorrow promises to be busy.”

  “Absolutely. In fact, I’ve just realized I need to do laundry in the morning. Probably run out to the store, too, before you call.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Laundry? You think about laundry while I kiss the stuffing out of you?”

&n
bsp; “Made me think I should put clean sheets on the bed,” he said, matter-of-factly. He wasn’t quite sure how she’d react to the idea but it seemed like a darn good moment to plant it in her head. He braced himself for shocked outrage or red hot temper. Instead, he heard a high, girlish giggle.

  “Maybe you should, Mr. Dering. Good night.”

  He watched her close the door. Then, ignoring the porch steps, he put one hand on the railing and vaulted over. He narrowly missed landing in Mrs. Haley’s prized petunia bed, but didn’t even notice. Mark ran down the street in a burst of speed powered by equal parts lust and adrenaline. Five blocks later he was panting, but still amazingly turned on. The look on Annabelle’s face as she closed the door was a mix of seduction and promise. It was probably the most arousing look he’d ever gotten from a woman. Twenty minutes of jogging and one cold shower later, the memory of her look still kept him hard as a rock.

  CHAPTER NINE

  This was supposed to be his vacation. Mark’s mind ran over the thought like a tongue worrying a sore tooth. He had two weeks before he was scheduled to begin research at the College of Charleston. This was supposed to be his time to relax. Flip flops and the beach. Napping in front of baseball, maybe throwing back some beers with friends. Instead, he was in a stuffy downtown office wearing a damn suit. When he offered to help his sexy redhead, she never mentioned he’d have to parade around town sweating in a coat and, oh yeah, a tie.

  “I didn’t get to finish my laundry. It’s sitting in the washer in a big, wet clump. Not all of us live in hotels, you know. When men are driven to do laundry, it’s usually a desperate situation,” he grumbled.

  “Stop complaining.” Annabelle’s voice was cool. “I told you I’d get us an appointment before noon.”

  “Give me a break. It’s a quarter to twelve,” Mark protested.

  “Not the point. Had you chosen to believe me, you’d have waited until this afternoon to do your chores. Underestimating me is never a good idea.”

  Mark twisted in a dainty, antique chair far too small for his frame. “I’ll stop complaining if you stop gloating. Deal?” He stuck out his hand.

  “Deal.” They shook on it, and didn’t pull their hands apart until the receptionist motioned from the doorway. They followed her down a long hallway lined with paintings as elegant and aged as the antiques in the waiting room.

  “I smell very old money,” Annabelle whispered.

  “Or at least the trappings of it,” Mark shot back. “Who knows how much is really left?”

  They were led into a conference room, offered refreshments, and then left alone. The room was dominated by a large oil painting of Prescott Hall.

  “Mark, was that an idle comment about the money, or have you heard rumors the Prescotts are running low on cash?”

  “To be honest, I don’t pay much attention to gossip. Being gone for months at a time doesn’t keep me up on the local rumor mill. I have a few friends I could ask, though. Nothing stays a secret for long around here, especially not in the rarified social circles the Prescotts frequent.”

  “I think you should ask around. Money, or lack thereof, is a pretty strong motive for crime. At least it gives us something to check out after we leave.” Annabelle reached into her bag and made sure her cell phone was turned on.

  Mark knew it was time to put a halt to her compulsion. “Okay—fifth time you’ve checked your phone since I picked you up. Unless you have a small pet stashed away in there, I think you can assume it hasn’t magically turned itself off in the last ten minutes.”

  “Vanessa’s computer was delivered to Jonathan over three hours ago. I don’t understand why he hasn’t called yet.”

  “Sugar, you said he’s a hacker, not a miracle worker.” He patted her hand in reassurance while trying to hide a grin. It was entertaining to see the cool and collected Miss Carlyle a little flustered. And it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. “For all we know, Jonathan could still be taking a shower or enjoying a second cup of coffee.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “From the moment the box was delivered, he should’ve been working on it. My note made it perfectly clear how crucial the situation is. If he rolled over and hit snooze or ran off to the gym before booting her computer, I will make his life so miserable…” She broke off her tirade at the look of astonishment on Mark’s face.

  “I was just trying to get you riled up. You know, to distract you. Don’t go threatening to lop off your brother’s head on account of my bad sense of humor.”

  Annabelle lightly thwacked the back of his head. “Maybe I’ll threaten you instead. Deliberately trying to make me crazy, are you?”

  Mark was spared having to answer by the appearance of Lamont Prescott. With his seersucker suit and bow tie, he looked much more the part of a genteel plantation owner than a lawyer. Mark and Annabelle stood as Prescott crossed the room, hand outstretched.

  “Miss Carlyle and Dr. Dering.” He vigorously pumped their hands. “It is a genuine pleasure to meet you both. Please take a seat and we can discuss how my humble firm can serve you.”

  Mark and Annabelle shared a look of confusion before she responded. “We’re not here on business Mr. Prescott, at least, not legal business.”

  “Then I’m afraid I don’t understand how I can help.”

  “I’m sorry for the miscommunication. I thought I explained this fully to your secretary. We’re here about your book collection.”

  “Ah!” His eyes lit up with the passion of a true collector. “Are you fellow enthusiasts, then?”

  “I lean more toward reading than collecting. Actually, we’re looking for a single book.”

  His cordiality perceptibly dimmed a notch at her words. Prescott settled into the leather chair at the head of the table, hand poised over a legal pad. Mark could almost see the lawyer part of his brain shifting into action.

  “You don’t sound as if you’re a native, Miss Carlyle. This book must be very important to make you travel all the way to our fair city in pursuit of it.”

  Mark was suddenly glad his role in this discussion consisted of sitting back and not saying a word. Things were about to get very sticky, and he didn’t envy Annabelle the thin line of truth and lies she had to walk.

  She leaned forward and launched into the collection of half-truths which comprised her cover story. “A good friend of mine, Tad Thornton, is a museum curator. He toured your plantation and was quite taken with your marvelous library. When he heard Wanderlust was planning a story on Charleston, he insisted we include your lovely home.”

  Mark watched her pause, take a sip of water to give Prescott a beat to absorb the news. Sure enough, as she set her glass back down a look of pride washed across the older man’s face. Her timing was impeccable.

  “I was able to see the plantation myself just this week. It will make a wonderful addition to the article.”

  Mark was impressed. Annabelle’s poise never flickered as she recounted her tale. Prescott looked completely taken in by the telling.

  “So you’re a writer for Wanderlust. Why, I’ve had a subscription for years. I make it a point to dig up old issues when I’m planning a trip. First-rate publication.”

  “I’m glad you think so. It’s always gratifying to hear from subscribers in person. Makes all the nights cooped up in hotel rooms banging away on my computer worthwhile.”

  Mark was worried she might be laying on the compliments a bit thick, but it seemed to be working. Prescott was completely relaxed in his chair. The mention of his library hadn’t caused so much as a flicker in his eyes.

  “Miss Carlyle, I’m honored you want to mention Prescott Hall. My plantation manager can provide some photos if you have the space.”

  “It’s a generous offer, Mr. Prescott, but in fact there is another matter in which only you can assist me. You see, Tad was hoping to borrow a book he noticed in your collection for an upcoming exhibit at his museum. As long as I’m down here, he asked if I’d see if you’re open to the idea.
He thought the personal touch might make you more amenable to a loan. I can assure you every precaution and safeguard will be taken with your property, both during transport and the duration of the exhibit.”

  Prescott stood abruptly. “I am more than open to the idea, Miss Carlyle. I’ve always been proud of my collection, and the thought that a museum is interested in even a small portion of it tickles me right down to my toes.” He bounced on the balls of his feet twice, in emphasis. “This is a red-letter day, indeed!”

  Annabelle worried her lip with her teeth, the picture of innocent frustration. “And I’d be happy to celebrate with you, except for the small fact that the book is missing.”

  Prescott’s bushy eyebrows exploded upwards. “What? Impossible. Young lady, I assure you whichever book your friend has his eye on, it most certainly isn’t missing.”

  He was following her cues as if they’d handed him a script. The meeting was going exactly as Mark and Annabelle had planned. Mark kept his fingers crossed Prescott wouldn’t ask the title of the book. It was an obvious question, but since they had no idea what it was, if he brought it up they were sunk.

  She cleared her throat. “Perhaps I misspoke. After I searched the library during my visit with no results, one of the tour guides mentioned someone else had used the library two weeks earlier. Is it possible they simply borrowed the book in question?”

  Mark realized he was holding his breath. This could be the break they needed.

  The lawyer strode to the door and bellowed for his secretary. “I do remember giving permission for someone to spend the afternoon with my collection, but the name eludes me at the moment. I was about to leave on a trip and didn’t pay the request much heed. But we keep a record of those things for liability and such. We’ll have this cleared up in no time.”

  After muttering instructions to his secretary, Prescott rejoined them at the conference table. “Suppose I should’ve paid more attention. Letting someone poke around is entirely different from letting them stroll off with one of my books. If you ask me, it’s downright rude. Nobody takes advantage of Lamont Prescott.” The telephone in the middle of the table buzzed, and Prescott snatched the receiver.